


Misc 004: Candyland

by Rhion



Category: By the Gun (2014), by the gun (movie)
Genre: AU, Alternate Ending, F/M, Fixed Ending, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One second is all it takes to pull a trigger, everybody knew that. And one second's pulled trigger can lead to a shitstorm unlike anything he wanted. It felt like all he could do was pull that trigger...but he didn't. Nicki forced himself to breathe, forced himself to <i>think</i>, because he knew without any fuckin' doubt, that if he pulled that trigger at all, that he should put the barrel in his own mouth rather than point it some other direction, because that's what it would be in the end. His death, and a whole ton of bystanders. </p><p>So he doesn't pull the trigger, with shaking hands, he forces his panic down, refuses to let the Angel and the Devil who sure as shit looked to be one and the same who were hissing and shouting at him to use that gun as a weapon instead of a prop, and manages a different course of action. It's tenuous, the tiny thread he squeezes, wrests, and twists out of the jaws of inevitability...but it's a chance to survive, and Nicki Tortano will fuckin' take that gamble instead of layin' down and dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Got to talking to Autumnspice, and said that it was too bad Ali hadn't been able to put her pipedream wish to work things out with her father, to rest. Because if Ali _had_ managed to let go of the impossible, and very toxic, pipedream that she knew wouldn't happen of reconcilliation or findin' out her dad wasn't a total dirtbag, then she could have come to the conclusion that her father _had_ to die for her to gain a hope for a future. See, as a mob daughter, no matter how much she eschews everything about it, she's still tied to it, trapped to that. And the man she loves is part of that world, too, and he's enslaved by it, under threat of it. So...what if Nick manages to squirm out of the trap that happens in the movie, and Ali has enough time to get down to brass tacks, figure out what's what, and that she's not gonna take it anymore?

Nick doubled up, heaving, dry choking, and nothing came up yet the bitter burn of bile was on his tongue, making him spit, struggling to free himself of the taste. To think the day had started off like heaven, to think he had believed for a single moment that there may be beauty in his life that wasn’t silicone and delusion, posturing and bullshit, all of it a dumb game that they all agreed to play for the sake of keeping things running, for jockeying and vying until better positions were gained. That morning, the world may not have been his oyster, but it had certainly been a place that he didn’t drift through without root, reason, with only survival day to day on his mind. 

On a chair, Tony was a bloody, tacky wreckage of man, George having had a field day, and goddamned pleased with himself about it too. Like kids in a commercial or movie of Christmas mornings, the three-hundred and twenty pound monster of muscle and mean showed off the present he’d bundled up for Nick. He may love George like family, hell, the man was family, protecting him when he was his most vulnerable, cutting him on action so Nick could get some green to pay for Vito’s school, put food on the table for his family, no matter if he wasn’t allowed to partake of it anymore... Yeah, he may love George for taking care of him, being by his side the way Nicki would be by Vito’s, but watching the big man dance around the defenseless Tony like a number from the Nutcracker was enough to make Nick seriously consider just how dangerous his friend was, how much of a threat, because someone like that was only contained by a little thing. As to what little thing, what rules George _really_ ran on inside that head that Nicki now feared was as toxic and mad as any sociopath’s, Nick didn’t know, he couldn’t even guess, and he was afraid to.

For the first time since being shown to his new digs in Shirley years back, Nick was actually afraid of George...and that feeling left him wanting to alternately weep or blow chunks until all he could spew was boot leather from the very bottom of his soul and his soles.

Numbly he processed everything, begging George to back down, to stop this madness while they may have some way to salvage shit. It wasn’t Tony on a chair dying, it was _them_ , and George thought it was _fun_. And goddamn both fuckers, they were whispering and ordering, egging him on back and forth over and over, make a choice, kill one, betray what he couldn’t betray... This weren’t no catch-22, this was ultimate betrayal of his best friend and multiple times saviour, George, up against the only refuge and solace he had been allowed even a taste of in his twenty-four years. How easy it would be to whack Ali’s dad, to look at the cockstain that was a clear and present threat to the only person that made him want to be greedy just for his own self - no matter how close to death Tony was, all he had to do was say the word, and any sliver of hope to figure out what was growing between him and Ali would be squashed forever. How easy it’d be to pull the trigger on Georgie too, his friend popping in close, taunting him, daring him, making it _easy_ , not even making any kind of defense or trying to give Nick a reason to not do the worst thing he could think of to one of the few who was really and truly his friend. 

“C’mon, Nicki, do it, do it, shoot, shoot,” different voices, sibilant and insidious, and Nicki’s whole body trembled in reaction when all he wanted was for them to both shut up and let him have a minute to breathe, to look at all the angles, to figure out some action that didn’t wind up with him or Georgie biting it, or worse, both of them biting it. Just a minute and he screamed at them both, doubling over again, hands clapped to his head, over his ears, anything to block them. But as soon as he let his hands drop, that shit was still there, hissing and goading. “Shoot him, Nick, you know you gotta do it, shoot him, he’s dead anyway, your dead anyway, I’m dead anyway...”

Pacing away from them, a violent circle and his hand rose when he saw George return to his disgusting game, that chunk of wood in hand. He wouldn’t shoot his friend, he wouldn’t shoot Tony, but that thing needed to _go_ , and a single clear shot was all it took to splinter it, breaking it in half. George halted, staring at his stump of wood, then up to him, completely flabbergasted, a landed guppy fish mouth opening and closing on useless air rather than water. Nick couldn’t see anything else for a moment, until George’s features twisted into rage, and Nick stepped back, barrel steady, he’d do it if George forced him, but he really, really didn’t want to.

“You jackass, what the fuck, Nicki,” throwing the useless remains aside. “Little bastard, you ungrateful shit, I do somethin’ for you, help you out like this, and you turn on me? That’s worse than bein’ a dickless wonder!”

George was so angry, he was barely coherent, and Nick realized what he could do. Safety flicked on, pistol tossed far enough away that George wouldn’t have easy access to it, Nick immediately bumrushed him. There was no way at a buck eighty on a good day, that Nicki could hope to out muscle George, but he could outsmart, he could grapple and much as most folks, even Georgie, thought Nicki wasn’t real good with pain, they didn’t really know him. Twisting in place, standing, they writhed, and George was trying to hoist him up, but Nicki brought the heavy weighted heel of his steel-toed boot down where it would count, the addition to his shoes something he’d learned back in his early teens, in his first years on the street. Leverage, hands slipping and twisting in cloth, Nick wriggled like an eel, letting George pull his coat, hoodie, and layers of shirts off, slithering free like a snake faster than George could react. Rabbit punch, not to jaw, not to anywhere nice and solid, Nicki’s knuckles slammed into the spot of cheekbones right over sinus. His friend howled, it had to hurt, Nick didn’t flinch, but his own breath left him in a whoosh. Ham fists struck him in what everyone always thought was weak spots on him, his thin torso, his stomach, and fuck the man, but it did hurt... Nick had been in choir for years, had mastered all kinds of breathing as a kid and into his squeaky, shitty teens as his voice changed, and even when he’d been on the street, he’d join a few Sunday choirs knowing if he did so, he’d get some hot chow. It was in deceptive stomach that George’s fist plowed, rebuffed by tensing and inhaling just so, while he brought both his own hands down on either side of the mick’s head, clapping with enough violence that if eardrums didn’t get ruptured, then they sure as shit were close to it. Reeling back, stunned, wobbling, George panted and huffed, struggling to regain full faculty control, and that was when Nick took him down hard. All it had taken was one last unbalancing, and then they were on the ground, where Nick’s extreme reach and flexibilty outclassed in every way George’s mass and muscular strength. Winding and twisting, coiling around him as George rolled trying to break free, Nick beared his teeth in silent triumph, finally able to get the bullnecked hustler in a proper sleeper hold that there was no getting out of. He waited, he ignored how the thrashing stopped, and waited a bit longer, breathing heavy , the whole time careful of George’s windpipe... Knocked out, that’s all he wanted George to be, not in danger.

Leaping free, catching his own breath once satisfied, he scrambled for his gun, shaking hands flicking the safety off, and Nick had tears in his eyes, knowing this was the only way to save both their hides long enough to figure a better way out of this fucked up mess. Kicking a hand so the arm splayed, Nick caressed the trigger as he pulled it with the sort of soft pressure that was all that was needed. George’s body jerked, and rolling his lips, gritting his teeth, Nick shifted stance, and allowed another bullet, in the other shoulder this time, to go into his friend. Now it would look like George got worked over, like he someone had gotten the drop on him bad. Grimacing, he toed George over, checking his handiwork, sighed, and looked around for something to use to add enough damage to be actually believable. Every time the small chair that had been set up by a matching table for George’s comfort landed a strike, Nick’s gorge rose. Every action was watched by Tony, ugly eyes peering from blood covered face, reptilian survival instincts biding time, wondering what to do or say to Nick to bargain for his life. 

When satisfied he’d properly worked George over but not so bad for lasting damage, Nick hauled his shirts back on, scanning the warehouse and quickly left for his caddy. He had a plan, it wasn’t much of one, but it was better than the shit totally hitting the fan, and it depended upon Tony’s desperation to live, how far gone the moneylender was, and how long he could keep George doped up too much to blab the real truth until way down the line, hopefully after Nicki had figured out how to save their bacon in spite of the flapping lips that usually happened when the idiot got ten deep on swill instead of face first in tits or twat. First aid kit utilized on George first, it was his friend he was doing this for, it was for Ali, for himself, he was doing this for. It wasn’t for any oath to the Family and the brotherhood that day by day, up close viewing after up close viewing when compared to what real acceptance, belonging, and care felt like...that Nick was being repeatedly forced to face showed him was utter delusion. All of what Saul offered was a lie, one Nicki clung to because he needed something to believe in, to hope for, to aim for. But it wasn’t for love of that fake shit that Nicki was cleaning, packing, tourniqueting George to limit the damage, it was for love of his family, his friend, the woman he wished he was clean enough to dare claiming as his girl. 

Going to Tony, Nick began what he could, assessing, and part of him was skeptical that the man would live out the week. But he wouldn’t say, he wanted Tony thinking he was in bad shape, yet easily survived with intervention. Otherwise, the asshole wouldn’t have any reason to cooperate, now would he? Carefully bottled water was used, cleaning away the worst, while Tony hissed, jerked, and struggled not to show pain or weakness. It was a pretty paltry act, but Nicki didn’t say nothing to it. 

Done as it was gonna get until they were at a hospital, Nicki capped the water bottle, put away the crap from the first aid kit, his gaze boring into Tony’s. “You’re doin’ real good, Tony, you ain’t even thrown a threat at me in the last ten minutes, I appreciate it, makes it easier for me to stomach what I’m gonna offer you.”

“Said I’d keep your secret,” cheek swollen leading to slurring, the older man’s head wobbled in a half circle, too much pain and damage keeping him from holding it up proper. “You can keep on fuckin’ my daughter, not like I even gave a damn, anyway, you’re welcome to tha bitch. Ain’t like anybody else would want the disloyal brat. Fuck, ain’t like nobody else’s managed ta keep my daughter on ‘er back long if they even get that far, you may finally tame the cunt an’ make’er appreciate the shit she’s got ‘cause’a me.”

Mentally he clamped down on the overwhelming desire to backhand Tony for punishment and defense of Ali’s honour. Instead his tone was mild, “That’s a given, Tony. But the thing is, is I’m all that’s between you an’ the grave. It’d be easy to walk away from this scene right now, call some friends, an’ have them find you, too far gone to talk, an’ nobody real sure on who did it. Yeah, it’s a gamble that they’ll go for Georgie, but he brought that on his head.” Cocking his head to the side, shifting his weight slowly from one foot to the other in his squat, the picture of so much disinterest that he saw a flare of actual real fear in Tony’s eyes. It didn’t make him feel good but it was useful, and Nicki waited a moment longer, as though he were doing nothing but contentedly running numbers without any tension or fear in his gut. “Wouldn’t be too hard ta hogtie Georgie, somebody got a good drop on ‘im, yeah? Me, well, I only showed up to the scene after who ever really got in on you both, left, an’ left Georgie for dead...but easy to excuse me fleein’, I’m just a kid, new to all this shit, and panicking while looking for help, not wantin’ to be tagged as responsible or havin’ any part in your death.” He leaned forward, face up close to Tony’s, “That’s an easy as fuck way to play this, Tony. It appeals real good too, even if it gets me punished for havin’ chickened out at seein’ what I see here.”

“You ain’t wanna do that,” working a swallow, and Nick figured that swallow was more about holding back any threat or antagonizing that would cost the man his life, “kid. You ain’t got the balls for this shit, but there’s other places for guys like you in this world. Runnin’ away now, even if they believed you sayin’ I was dead at the time, you’d get your ass killed.” A slurring inhale, drool and blood sucked in to keep the words remotely clear, “Bright kid like you’s got a future if you’re careful ‘bout it. But you get ahead of yourself, you do somethin’ stupid, an’ what you wanna bet it ain’t you they go for to keep you pinned so good you don’t wanna ever make a break for somethin’ else for fear of the consequences?”

Blinking slowly, brow quirking higher, unmoved, very, very aware of what kinds of consequences there were, but letting Tony feel like he was swaying Nick. “Yeah? What kind’s that?”

“If I’m dead, they won’t have no reason to keep my daughter alive, or in one piece, if they can use her to hurt you,” and while Nick had already been aware, hearing it still made his hands itch to wrap around someone's throat for even conceiving the threat, and worse, daring to _utter_ that shit to him.

Nicki said reasonably, “Yeah, I’d thought’a that, Tony. An’ it’s for her sake you an’ I are talkin’. She wouldn’t appreciate it if I killed you, no matter how much she wouldn’t mind you bein’ dead. What the fuck did you do ta her ta make her think higher of cockroaches?” Holding up a hand, “Nah, don’t tell me, I’ll have to take my own pound of flesh enjoyment outta your hide if you say, so let’s do us all a favour, and not talk ‘bout that. What she’s told me is bad enough, but if I know more, I won’t be able to keep my temper, which ain’t good, ‘cause we’re all relyin’ I maintain a cool head here.”

“Fine, have it, have it your way,” another slur, and Nick reopened the water bottle, allowing the man a dribbling drink to ease the agony of dry mouth and blood sick taste that no doubt burned like a fire of its own. “Wh-what’cha got planned with that big mouth of yours then, kid? You think any of you are gonna get away from this clean?”

“Actually, yeah, I do,” lips canting to the side. “If you want to live, you’ll work with me, Tony. Simple.”

“Ou-out with it,” a lengthy pause, considering, then ordering Nick.

“I got here, George was down, found you like this, fought the guy who was havin’ fun, I’ll put a bag on your head so you can play like you ain’t seen him at all,” measured, calm, the most reasonable voice Nicki had, the kind that made even absolute stupidity sound like it may be worth the risk for a big payday... It was useful in cons, and he was good at it. “I got my own ass handed to me some, but managed to chase the guy off, all too fast for me to see clear either, too focused on stayin’ alive, an’ doin’ my job since Saul’s always on about how protected you are, an’ keepin’ my friend alive, too, gotta remember that.” Hypnotically, cold, emotionless, Nick slid into reasonable sonorous cadence, sort of like rhythmic Hail Marys, “You agree, an’ I’ll make a call, help’ll show up, an’ you’ll be right as rain, in the comfort of whatever hospital that’s all top of the line, I dunno what you high up guys can afford, but I’ll bet it’s real nice,” said while wiping off imaginary dust from Tony’s slumped shoulders. 

“That is a _shit_ story,” after a few minutes were taken to work the story through his head, assessing it best as his rattled brain would allow.

“Sure, it may be shit, but it’s better than nothin’, ain’t it? You wanna take the gamble on this, hope you’ll live? Then guess what, Tony, you better sell that line of shit, believe that line of shit, live it, breathe it, so nobody would think you’re lyin’ about it to save your hide,” cupping the whiskery chin, Nick’s voice went hard, cold, and filled with methodical hate so deep that even Tony reacted to it. “This’s only chance you’re gonna get, Tony. You sell that line of shit like the showman an’ con that you are, an’ I can be all shaken, corroboratin’ it, just a guy showin’ up at the right time, intendin’ on helpin’ a friend out only ta find this mess. You sell it, I’ll sell it, we’ll toot our little music number, an’ even if they know somethin’ ain’t addin’ up, they won’t say otherwise, because it’s Tony Montezano sayin’ what went down! Not newguy Nicki Tortano that pretty little cocksucker they always call me, no matter how much pussy I’m drownin’ that they couldn’t touch without alotta dough ponied up for the privilege.” Kindly, “Then you can go to your world of your mancave, Tony, where you’re the king, just like on tv shows. An’ me? I’ll just keep my head down, be a good little soldier, an’ find out how many ways I can make Ali squeal my name, because that’s the only place I needta be king, my needs are real simple that way I guess. If things work real good, maybe I’ll convince’er to send Father’s Day cards, tell’er it’ll make shit easier for me... If things all go real smoothly from this, Tony, I promise I’ll do what I can ta get Ali a little more willin’ to stop callin’ you all them names she does, ease up on her hate. I know what it’s like ta have loved ones that disgusted with you, an’ while I may feel the same towards you that she does, I know how to do right by those who do right by me... You sell things Tony, make ‘um all believe, an’ all this blows over, do right by me an’ shit, an’ I _will_ do right by you.”

 

And there came the cagey slither of slimeball grasping for a better assured chance of survival. “Take me to the hospital, say you found me somewhere’s else, an’ send someone to pick up your gorilla.”

“And why would I find you somewhere else, Tony?” prompting. “You wanna improve this, you gotta gimme more ta work with than that.”

Mouth working, gaze sharpening, “My cell. Your number’s in there. I set out ta get what I was owed, but didn’t find the fuck. Called you ta see if you know where your shit for brains psycho was. Last thing I ‘member, then you come ta one of the other warehouses ‘round here, you find me there.”

“A case of mistaken identity, a fuckup,” Nick nodded, lips twitching. “I go where George had said he’d intended ta meet up with someone he owed big. But I also go where you said you’d be, ‘cuz they’re real close, right? Find you two separate, both fucked...” Tutting, “Tshaaa that doesn’t explain why I’m a mess, do it?”

“They get up behind you, you fight, but head’s rattled too hard ta see clear,” a shrug, then a groan of pain at the motion. “You’re enough ta chase ‘um off, but enough whacks to the head, you can’t think too good, an’ see me...”

“Much better,” Nick praised, smiling winsomely in full. Clapping his hands once, “I believe we have a workable thing, don’t you, Mr. Montezano. Everybody gets out alive, at least for a few more days until you feel better enough ta try an’ doublecross me, fuck me over. Which I don’t want, an’ really, if you thought ‘bout it, you don’t want it neither. Your daughter’s a real sweet girl, an’ I bet that’s got lots of folks fooled. But you know as well as I do, that if she’s pushed a little bit more an’ somebody rains on her parade one more time...it ain’t Georgie you’ll hafta worry ‘bout Tony. She told me enough an’ thought she covered her own ass on how much’a you she got in her...well. You take away her present toy that keeps her nice an’ quiet, she’ll make you wish she took your balls. Yet, I’m still gonna hope that you an’ I’ve reached a real accord here, Tony, but I’ll be honest, I ain’t gonna count on it. If you hold your end up, I’ll do the same... Yet I know you, Tony, better than you think.” Whispering, leaning close again, to say in his ear, hand on the back of the older man’s neck, “I know what’cha did ta her ma. To her car...I was tryin’ ta fix it up so Ali’d at least have wheels ta go to an’ from work... Brakeline an’ transmission, real sloppy. An’ while I hemmed an’ hawed a little bit, she’s already put it together. Whatever you did, you been on her shitlist for ages, Tony, an’ that car, it throws a big ass brick on it... Right now, all she needs a bad mood an’ a straw for her ta show you how much she’s your kid.” Pulling back, “You wanna risk that? The pissed off daughter with a fuckton of rage issues pent up, who studies the way different cultures torture people? You cover my ass an’ Georgie’s, I’ll cover yours with her, keep her happy an’ offa your back until you grow cocky ‘nough ta think there’s no line you can’t cross without a price.”

Lips twisting, “We’ll get to that point, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Nick nodded, moving Georgie’s cell close to his friend’s hand, who was still out for the count, but not in danger. “Or maybe you’ll figure out a better way to use me, not that I care, this shit’s just a job I do between livin’ my life quietly. I’d like ta keep it that way an’ not bother anyone if possible. Still, we’re done for now, I gotta get this place cleared up a little, so nobody knows you were here...an’ make enough of a mess so that it looked like you was the next buildin’ over or somethin’.” Sniffing once, scooping rocks covered in blood into one of Georgie’s contracting bags, “Can’t nobody say I ain’t thorough, even if this shit’s wastin’ valuable time, but I figure you’ll keep stable long enough for me to cover all our asses, yeah? Just don’t chicken out on me, Tony, an’ everythin’ll be a-okay.”

XXX

Ali was shaking as she stood in her livingroom. Her green housephone was something straight from the 80’s it was so old, not rotary old, but closer than exes of hers had liked. The china cabinet was filled with little things she or Mom had gathered over the years, added to the collection, and sometimes Ali couldn’t remember if it was Mom’s thing or her thing to like ornaments. It was all mixed up, her cozy little house, a tiny world that took up half of a shotgun duplex. It was the only help her father was reliable about giving, and even that wasn’t so great - she may have a much lower rent, a family discount, but it was still almost half a bad month’s pay. Everywhere she looked, there were pieces of herself, pieces of Mom, scattered around, trying to cover up the taint of her father’s ownership of the place. She’d worked _so hard_ to make it just her own, to forget anything to do with her father, to distance herself in all ways from him and his kind. Partially it was because they were assholes, but also because she didn’t want to be slapped in the face every time she saw them with the fact her father couldn’t be bothered to follow through on the simplest, lowest promises he’d said everytime he wanted to trot out his cute little daughter that he’d tricked a brilliant med student into having. Years ago, Ali had asked only for her father’s love, or even him accepting a girl’s tokens of affection for a parent she didn’t understand couldn’t care about anything but himself. 

Tangling her hand in a clutching fist over her heart that was aching and racing with a kind of unfamiliar agony, she forced herself to look around at her home. Nick loved it here, she’d never seen a person revel in something so simple as what were a truly silly number of throw pillows she usually squished to herself in a hug when she needed them. He had almost immediately done the same thing once making himself comfortable when he must have thought she couldn’t see him. He’d squished it to his middle the same way she would, but had also buried his face in the plush material, shoulders rising with an unmistakable heave of inhaled breath. When he’d realized she was watching, he had ducked his head, hiding his face, the tips of his ears gone all pink, and she had been driven to kiss him until they both forgot what they may have intended earlier, or why he was on the couch. Such a short time, a couple handfuls of visits, not even every day, but the undeniable way his smile would move over his face like a burst of sunshine at seeing her, bright and beautiful, was something that had begun to permeate not just her somehow, but spread to her home. Blinking the burning sensation in her eyes away, desperate to ward off any tears that would dare threaten her, suddenly there were only ragged touches of her father on the house, like wisps of trash that could be swept away with a bit of spring cleaning. There was Nicki at the table, his elegant, delicate, irrefutably masculine hands of the size any basketball player would kill to have, had held her mismatched silverware with better table manners than she had herself. The way he talked, the way he acted, Ali hadn’t ever thought he had that sort of thing, hell, she couldn’t remember the last time she saw someone wield a fork, spoon, or knife like it was a graceful dance at some really fancy place. After any meal that they shared at the table, he was always insisting on helping with dishes if he didn’t do them outright. 

The green bungalow was seen through those moments, tiny glimpses of a life that Ali was scared to think may be possible for her, since every other guy she’d gone with for any period, always found a reason to leave. Nice guys with at least a modest future ahead of them, as soon as she felt safe enough to be honest, to tell them about her background, even a little bit, would get all upset, crestfallen, and apologetic that no matter what _she_ was like, they didn’t see how it would work out between such different family backgrounds. Wops and thugs, hustlers and punks, well, she usually didn’t keep them around for more than a night _anyway_ , and usually she didn’t even keep them that long - ride ‘um and let them go away, not wanting them to dirty the safe haven of her bed, couch, wherever, with their too powerful cologne or body sprays, their greasy hides... Supposedly they were for getting off, but mostly Ali brought them around because she couldn’t help how guys who acted like sewer rats seemed to get her going. It was pathetic, gross even. There was just something irresistible about their tastelessness, the fact she could give them the boot as soon as they were both done, or, usually, when the jerkface was done, ready for a nap, while she had to finish off with her hands or something battery operated. (So what if that bruised their little egos, that was actually kinda fun too, and if the guy had been really pathetic, she made sure to be loud in her enjoyment of something other than whatever weak attempts at pleasing her had caused. It was a little sadistic to do that, maybe, but Ali brought those punks to her place for _her_ enjoyment one way or another. Either they got her off, or she got off wrecking their egos, a in any case, she got what she wanted...) They were always gone long before they could pose a threat to her heart, staying just long enough to remind her of how scum was to be washed away and how easy it was to do, that she didn’t need them no matter how much she liked to get down in the dirt sometimes.

Now guys of really nice prospects that everyone always seemed to be worried about overall, doctors, lawyers, other egotistical types who felt that their studies, perhaps current profession, all entitled them to automatic respect and reason to stare down their noses at anyone not so vaunted... Ali hadn’t any interest in those guys, even if she’d had some fun with a few over the course of her adult life, but she wasn’t inclined to become anyone’s bitter bauble if they could even bring themselves to sink low enough to take a girl born of the kind of union she came from. With all those types removed from the menu of possible partners to chose from, Ali had pretty much given up thinking she could have a real boyfriend. Nice guys were too weak, bad boys were useless trash, and rich guys were dickheads looking for arm candy suitable to their career’s status later on.

So, all in all, no, she hadn’t thought her life would hold tiny magical moments of sharing with another person who liked talking _with_ her, listening to her, sharing his own hidden pieces with her the way he hadn’t with anyone else... It wasn’t that Nicki was all sweetness all the time, or anything like playing pretend games of perfection, instead it was...it was just him there, living in that space she let him into, showing appreciation for it, simply because. Her mantlepiece was holding anything resembling a vase she could find, each one filled with simple or more complex bouquets, Nicki’s bit of humour whenever walking her home from her shift at the bar. Only those with life in them sat up there, the oldest ones had been salvaged before withering completely, and presently were being pressed in heavy books, others, hanging upside down drying, because Ali wouldn’t part with those sentimental sweet proofs of good humour. Nick, with laughter and the most boyish snort snicker giggles, would accept any ribbing she threw his way each time he showed up with yet another bundle of blooms, the strange music of those sounds coming from him making her want to hold him, nurture him a little somewhat, stuff him full of cookies perhaps, but also roll around and tussle like baby animals bonding. Something had told her that the openness, the youthfulness he showed her, was a leap of faith and not something he’d let someone else ever see, and he never used any of it to his advantage over her. None of the weaknesses and desire Nick sparked in her by that genuine guy who moved with a bit of strange ungainly grace around the house, participating and doing anything he saw needed doing without comment and always a bit of startlement if she thanked him for it, with him adding his presence to her home, Ali had found herself entertaining a thought of ‘maybe’. _Maybe_ she _could_ have a life like that, and wouldn’t that be weird and nice? 

...He’d attracted her with all that dirt and grime that ginnys anything like her father seemed to have, this dumb magnetism that ignored any wish on Ali’s part to want someone like...like someone _wholesome_ that didn’t look like they’d been scraped off a really bad club’s curb after too many cosmos or whatever bitch drink was on sale that night. Bad hair, except it was actually so soft it took most of Ali’s willpower at any time to keep her hands from delving as deeply as possible, fluffing it, so that it showed off all the auburn and blond highlights that the cheap hair gel he used tended to mask. A really ratty goatee that looked like some girl who kept things shaved in a shape had sat down, and when she got up, left behind her over trimmed bush...but his neck, his cheeks, jaw - wild and disheveled stubble framed a bad fashion choice of that smack of facial hair. Except it was actually pretty soft too, and she liked the ticklish burr that it prickled over anywhere he rubbed his face into. The only thing she’d begged him to change right away, was the bodyspray he _really_ overindulged in, but that was just a thing all ginny guys seemed to do, even the nice boys and doctors, it was hardwired into their DNA no matter how many generations back their family left the old country. And all that _black_ he wore, it was like some thug announcing he was dark and not to mess with him... _annnd_ the saunter, the smart mouth, Nick had been everything that made Ali feel stupid and horny, bouncing at the prospect of getting dirty then tossing out the trash when she was bored with it. 

That was all the surface stuff and it had caught her attention long enough to get really curious about some of his manner over all. One thing led to another, and somehow Ali had wanted nothing more than to welcome him into a space that they both felt at home in. The only true thing that, over their slow as they could manage getting to know one another phase, that drew Ali up short again and again, was what Nick was. What he did for the green in his pocket. Because there was only one thing in her world worse than a dirty dago...and that was a fucking goombah who was an actual hustler, or even worse than that, part of some gang. And Nick was, he wouldn’t lie, she’d asked him, he’d sidestepped enough to make it clear he didn’t want to disappoint her, but wouldn’t lie... God, she should have run far and fast as she could from him, but he had been so earnest, and his presence in her life, any day, any night, for a moment or a long time, or sweet baby Jesus, the genuine interest in stupid text messages that comprised of their conversation when he wasn’t there with her... Why did he have to be everything Ali had shunned since having briefly sunk to the real deep low of working at one of her father’s strip joints until he’d found out and shuffled her to a ‘better’ job, back when she was twenty-two... 

Lips working and chewing as she tried not to cry, seeing Nicki’s unobtrusive touch everywhere, hands tugging and clenching at her blue cardigan, “Oh Nicki, what the hell am I gonna do?”

He was in the hospital...with her father. His friend Georgie, whom he spoke highly of when mentioned, but then also would sigh that George could be bullheaded to the point of suicidal stupidity was there too. That frightened her, all three of them, same day, same place, same general time... There was no way any of it was happenstance.

Ali’s worst fear was that her father would do something spiteful and have Nicki hurt, for whatever reason. Some made up infraction, maybe punish him for coming near her, or just... Really, Ali couldn’t put anything past her father. The man loved power over others, provoking and taunting anyone he knew couldn’t do anything about what was going on. As his daughter, she’d gotten away with a bit more than most could, definitely more than Mom could have. Too bad that fit back in high school when he’d sent her with an escort for Homecoming who had a rape wrap sheet, charges mostly dropped or not, that wouldn’t be out of place being compared to War and Peace, too bad that tantrum hadn’t done permanent damage. While the absolutely hilarious joke of a barely verbal primate not wanting to take no for an answer until she’d punctuated it with a hairpin rammed through his eye socket, the second one ready to slam into his ear to scramble whatever jello he had used for thought processes, had been a night to remember, Ali had at the first opportunity stormed into her father’s strip joint, and doused him with the nearest bottle of high proof alcohol she could grab. If that had happened anytime more recently, Ali would have added a firebreathing show to the entertainment the dirtbags and overworked illegal immigrant girls had that night, and her father could have showed off a fire dance... No, Ali really, really couldn’t put anything as beyond his fucked up idea of humour, showing off how he was top of the food chain, no matter that he was technically ‘just’ a moneylender that served all the major gangs in Boston. 

Nicki was nothing to her father, no matter what role he played in his gang, unless it was the son of the top two or three leaders, nobody would bother doing more than bitch if her father decided to play with Nick for any reason. Nobody would lift a finger, say a word. Ali would, but her father would happily do anything to poke her where she was vulnerable, for whatever reason he did that shit to her. Nobody would defend her either, actually, oh, maybe someone may shield her a little, but they didn’t have any reason to, and if her father showed other mob types that he put no value in her, then they would be all too happy to run roughshod over her if she so much as accidentally got in their way. 

Wandering into her bedroom, the bed had been made imperfectly, blankets dragged into approximate place, and she flopped onto the side Nick usually was on, eyes closing tightly. If she squeezed the pillow maybe she could pretend it was him, maybe it would help her figure out if any of this was worth her taking some kind of action. Not that she even knew what kind of action she could take that may work! The tears that had been itching and burning but obeyed up until that moment, fell as she rolled onto her back, the cuddle-able embrace of the bed nice, but it was only a tease for the feel of Nicki on his side, between her legs, reading while she watched a movie, fingers weaving through his hair, spending hours in the most intimate act she had partaken of in her life other than the sex they would enjoy. She wanted him here, she wanted him in her life. She wanted a place that had become hers, felt welcome, but not until Nicki had slipped into place, did her duplex feel like a _real_ home. He made it feel so safe, so secure, and more, he made it feel shared, something more than walls and some furniture. His personal additions were a few books here and there, left behind with some hesitation, like he wasn’t sure it was alright, but knowing those books were there made her feel comforted too, he would come back at least one more time... Ali hadn’t ever wanted someone to invade her life, take up and fill in the spots that Nicki was only slowly relaxing to fill, always checking in some way or another that he was welcome. God, she wanted to welcome him into everything some minutes, so bad no matter how rushed and dangerous that was for her heart, and she suspected his, too. Nick and she both fed that dream of home they had unknowingly touched and caught sight of when in the other’s presence...

...Her father would take it all away. 

Nicki had been puzzled as hell over Mom’s car that was in her covered shed-garage out back, and accidentally revealed Ali’s worst nightmare after he’d replaced the windshield. The car’s brake line and transmission had been sabotaged, which when he’d muttered it, she thought she would fall over, until he rushed to catch her, to correct himself, saying rocks could do that sometimes, too, and happened pretty often. But that was just another thing her father could do, wasn’t it? Kill his own wife just because she didn’t want to be beat on, drugged and ridden for some power trip or whatever it was that went through her father’s brain. If he would do that, how long would he wait to go for Nick? How long would he wait to go for _her_ , and that was a chilling thought that had Ali bolting up. 

“Oh god,” and Ali had long since relegated her sperm donor to bottom of the barrel, but never considered what he may do to her if he got a wild hair. He was rabid. There was no hope, no nothing, and any dream she may have once had, wasn’t worth the danger and heartache hanging onto it would demand of her. 

One end of the house to the other, pacing, pacing, hands wringing, Ali thought, adding things up, subtracting, refusing to give Tony Montezano even the slimmest benefit of the doubt. If her father wasn’t the outright cause of Nick being in the hospital, then he still was part of it. As soon as he was able to work up the strength, he’d probably go for Nick for being party or witness to whatever put her father in the hospital, that man refused to ever let anyone think for a single inhaled breath that he was anything other than all powerful. Worse, there may not be much time. Maybe in a few hours even, maybe weeks, maybe even months, but Nick’s days were numbered, and her father may even drag her in to watch if not throwing her to the same fate. Oh god, oh god, this would not happen, she wasn’t Mom, she wasn’t afraid to really act. Mom had addictions, she could be distracted, she had fears... Ali didn’t. She may be afraid, but she had learned from watching from the sidelines what her father did to Mom, and knew that allowing fears to make her hesitate from a course of action that meant freedom and safety, and the familiar, meant continuing to suffer...no, Ali would act.

It was quick, but if Ali was honest with herself, _really_ honest, some part of her had been waiting to let go of a useless wish and replace it with something that may be a gamble that didn’t go her way, but it was a gamble that allowed hope for a future. That part of Ali had been so careful, stayed so far back, only rarely daring her father’s attention so often, holding an unconscious, healthy fear, that if she looked at the stark ugliness in her background, she knew she should have embraced that knowledge at least a couple years ago... Her pulse spiked and Ali hugged herself, teeth grit. Until Nick had mentioned what he’d found under Mom’s car, Ali had dismissed any twinge of nightmare that labeled her father as a potential reason for Mom’s accident, for flying out of the front windshield on impact... Mom had been on so many meds in the hospital when Ali’d seen her, that the raving had sounded paranoid, scared, and she’d wanted so, so much to not think that her father was that despicable. But the man had conned Mom to dabble in his and that, until she was hooked, to take part in a cascade effect, and plotted Ali’s birth as an extra piece of leverage. Why had Ali kept herself from looking at all of that?

Because she hadn’t anything better to hope for, other than maybe she was worth something to a worthless sack of meat. 

So...while Ali wasn’t entirely committed to her intent, her acknowledgement that her father needed to be put down if she wanted to even be allowed a chance to find her own future in peace, she still had to consider one thing: How they fuck would she put him down? Gun, she had a gun that had been given to her by Uncle Jerry years and years ago, but while she was okay with it, and point blank was fail-proof, that really wouldn’t let her gain a life or freedom or future that her father couldn’t ruin, now could it? No, that wouldn’t work obviously. Draino, no, obvious, hard to excuse... Once more through the house Ali moved, hunting for something, anything to whap her with inspiration, and it was when her eye caught on a collage of pictures of her and Mom that she found what she needed. Pictures that were maps showing the wear of drug addiction and physical abuse, some years where she was clean and not under her father’s fist, Mom looked so much better, others...well. It was too apropos for words, and unintentionally, Ali smiled, tucking hair behind her ears, relieved to the point of joy, any recognition of the fact she was so happy considering doing someone harm, didn’t even register. Just...relief, hope. That may make her a very bad person, but Ali knew what this all was, and it wasn’t revenge, it was self-defense, so there wasn’t any reason to be anything but thankful and relieved by everything clicking into place. 

Would Nicki understand? If he found out, would he not want her anymore, feeling she’d become sullied by a world he appeared to rejoice in her not being in? So, alright then, she wouldn’t tell him, which felt contrary to how things had been as she could tell Nick pretty much anything, and he’d listened to everything else and not judged, only held her, kissed her, reassured her or maybe teased gently if it seemed she needed it. But for delving into his world, one he left at the foot of the stairs to the porch when he came here, he would no doubt be too upset at her going where he, and just about everyone else for that matter, always had ejected her from, making it clear she didn’t belong. In most cases, it was rejection, in Nick’s Ali figured it was just not wanting her twisted by it. That bit of resolve and decision made on that front, Ali cleaned herself up, and prepared everything she could think of needing, planned it out step by step and went over it several times to reassure herself of what would happen, and then, bundled against the blustery wind and its chill, Ali took herself forward to the path of hope.

“Hang on beautiful, I got a plan, and this time it’ll be me doing the thing that needs doin’, you don’t have to carry everyone all the time,” squeezing her bundled up layers of hunter green canvas coat over thick sweaters that made her into everything snuggly, harmless, and cozy, just what the doctor would order for her man...


	2. Chapter 2

Looped on meds, but not so looped he couldn’t keep his head in one focused direction, Nicki wanted to call Pops and Vito, let them know he was alright. Not that Pops would care, Vito probably would, but Vito had a temper sometimes and that wasn’t worth poking. Call Ali, let’er know he was alright, she’d probably care. Actually, he just wanted a moment of a voice that didn’t belong to the crew of devils he’d signed his life and soul away to. A crew of devils who he’d have to continue to maintain levels of posturing and shit that may leave them not a hundred percent trusting of his stupid story, or anything he did, but unable to point to one single thing and say that it was false. Little Nicki Tortano, hungry to belong, hungry for his role and place in the Family, he may brag and be a bit of a fool, but he was too caught up in the dream Saul had sold him as the reward for loyalty, life, limb, and love to do anything _really_ stupid, _really_ against the rules. Little Nicki Tortano was a starving boy eager to please for a pat on the head and a crust of bread.

Nicki was still that hungry kid, pretty sure of it, but he was growing tired of applying himself to believing the illusions Saul’s charlatan tricks threw in his eyes to dazzle. How much had he given up for his place in the Family? Morals, ethics, decency, nebulous crap like that, Nick had relinquished those things by inches, only cautiously releasing them, since he viewed them as coin. Big difference between a hustle or a con and playing with the big boys. Except the big boys were mostly geriatrics unable to adjust and adapt to the world they were in, while younger more versatile groups circled and sniffed the Family, just waiting. Right now, Nick didn’t want to play with any of them, he was aching head to toe, two ribs had been dislocated and popped back into his sternum, three more were varying severities of fractured but not straight up broke, crack in his skull accompanied by a concussion that the brain scany things showed no blood leaking on his grey matter, which was good as that could cause some seriously bad seizures the docs had said. Chances are, he’d never feel this bruised if he worked a deli job like some fucking jackoff, and if it were just him Nick had to support, he probably woulda taken Michael's job, worked his way to a bookkeeping post which would have left him mostly legit...and no Family. No falling apart, no stupid big boy games that amounted to some muscle flexes and everyone whipping their cock out to measure like that was any indication of strength or superiority. 

Licking and sucking his teeth, Nick scooted to sit up better, using the fiddly buttons to make the hospital bed slope more comfortably. It was tempting to press the morphine drip button, but it made him sleepy, and he had to stay awake enough to tell George to shut up if the dumbass woke in a talkative state spilling shit he really, really shouldn’t. George’s loose lips were the kinda shit that cost lives even more than the inability to let go personal affronts. Being solo or working with only one or two others at any given time, allowed the older man the option of stupidity like that, and much as Georgie cut Nicki in on deals, Georgie only had Georgie to support, only himself to worry over really. Which wasn’t the way shit was for other guys. 

Man, he would kill for a book though, some earplugs to silence Georgie’s rattling snores would be nice too. Fuck, he needed a plan, a more stable one than concussion addling making what he and Tony had recounted for Saul and some others, a plan that sort of sounded more plausible, no matter how tenuous the stretch was to cover George in the thin net of safety. And a book would probably settle Nick’s nerves, let his brain drift, so it could come up with something. Really, other than getting George the hell outta Boston for awhile, there wasn’t much Nick could see to keep them all safe. His ties and vow to the Family, to Saul, prevented him from just up and running himself after socking away some dough to start a new life... (Now, if Ali had said she would go, he would haul ass so fast that Speedy Gonzalez and the Roadrunner wouldn’t have shit on him, no sir.) Or, actually, _more_ dough to start a new life. There was a cache Nick had added to very carefully whenever he’d had a little extra to tuck into the nest egg that didn’t go to Vito or Pops, and yeah, debts, so many debts... When he had to rustle up cash for Vito and Pops without license from the Family to hustle, it had meant borrowing, so that blew. Sure he coulda worked more often on the downlow like George did, but that didn’t look good if trying to hook up with a bigger outfit that could bring better cash rewards consistently. 

The hospital gown Nick wore had been washed to faded softness, worn out wan blue, but the sheets were starchy and scratched in that nasty institutional way that made a man fear for getting the equivalent of a papercut pretty much anywhere tender. Like his ass, or worse, his ballbag, or really worse, his cock. Thankfully the nurses had let him keep his shorts, otherwise he’d probably be whining and crouching like a little kid. That was sorta Ali’s fault, a few weeks of off and on going to sleep enveloped in a bed that was dense with fluff and plush surfaces the likes of which Nick wasn’t accustomed to at any point in his life, had turned him into a pussy. Sure, sure, a few broads he’d nailed in the past had soft beds and linens, but for some reason they hadn’t caused Nick to become a total wuss wanting fabric that caressed his limbs all nice. Fuck, he was lucky he was in a bed, it had sheets, better than Georgie’s sofa that was Nick’s only regular place to crash if he’d failed to score... Except that’s not how it was anymore, he just went to Ali’s, slept in bed with her, or if he forced himself away in hopes of not overstepping his bounds, using up the welcome she gave him, it was George’s couch. And to not bother either of them too much, the caddy wasn’t the warmest, but he should get a good sleeping bag soon for winter, since he stretched out on squeaky leather seats often enough to space it all out. A book, some earplugs, a pillow that held Ali’s scent...if wishes were horses, everybody’d be fuckin’ confused and fallin’ off the damn things as they all tried to ride. 

Making a face, he kicked some at the blankets, last time he’d been in a hospital bed, they’d cut his tonsils out and he’d eaten ice cream for a week. That had been nice. Other than the pain, but the nurses had been real sweet to him when he was little, and he wouldn’t be getting any ice cream today for sitting still while being cleaned up and seeing to anything in need of taping, taped, lots of stinky crap slathered on bruises, and there was the icepacks to make them fade faster..he was an adult, and those didn’t get treats for behaving the way kids did. Plus, he wasn’t allowed to sleep neithers, though the docs were pretty sure he’d be fine, and so was he - Nick got his brain rattled way worse in street fights back in the day and he’d survived. 

“Oh beautiful, you look so sad,” Ali’s voice cut through his brooding, swiftly entering the room he shared with Georgie, the door hanging open, and he could see Saul and some other biggies who had clout and invested interest in Tony sticking around amongst the living out in that room. Not that Nick had much time to peer through the opening, because Ali was there right beside him, her outer layers peeled off, and suddenly she was scrambling up into the gourney with him, uncaring of the handful of tubes and wires he was hooked up to. Gloves got yanked off, those hands, so tender it made Nick shudder involuntarily, leaning into the touch, as they caressed his face, tilting his head so she could inspect him, “I’ve never seen you look so pouty, but no wonder, some animal used your face as a punchin’ bag, sweetie.”

Wincing when she kissed the split above his eyebrow - he’d forgotten about that, “Aww it ain’t so bad, maybe it’ll make me more rugged lookin’ when it all heals up, huh? Hard ta be taken seriously with the mug I was already sportin’, this should be an improvement. Few more scores like that, an’ maybe I won’t hafta keep bein’ called a pretty fag by other guys.”

“Is your name Rocky Balboa?” Ali asked archly. “Because if it ain’t, then you shouldn’t try too hard to come out looking like a battered potato face, bud. Next time someone nails you a hit there, I want you to grab their jewels and twist as the payback they owe me for takin’ a crack like that at my beautiful Nicki.”

Nick cringed, protesting, “No, no, I cain’t do that, sweetheart. Men don’t do that to other men, it ain’t right! No man grabs another man’s balls an’, an’ tries ta twist’um like _that_! It just ain’t done, it’s evil!”

Ali growled with a startling amount of menace, and he saw Saul having come closer to watch them through narrowed eyes, but Ali was hanging onto his shoulders, and Nick didn’t really think things would go well for him if he seemed even slightly distracted. “Nickelo Emilio Tortano, _anybody_ who tries to muck up your face owes me big time, that’s how it is. So you grab -” gesturing, her long fingers curling into a cupped fist near his face in demonstration and a vicious twisting jerk was mimed, “an’ I want you to go for all you’re worth with them big ass paws of yours an’ make’um regret that they ever raised a hand at _my_ Nicki. They do it again, you bring me their fuckin’ nuts ta make inta a new change purse, you hear me? I ain’t gonna settle for less, anybody who whacks at you answers ta me. If they make you look like Papa Saul, I’m gonna roast’um myself and make me a new handbag outta’um.”

It suddenly hit Nick what she was doing. Yeah, she was being protective of him, caring, tender, all those things that he liked best, but more noticeable, loud, ready to shout and throw things in demonstration of her claimed territory... In short, she was acting like what she was: a mob daughter. It was a show, her intent to stake claim over him, throwing her weight around as Tony’s kid put forth to buy him some sort of leeway, no matter how mild. She was also being the girl the chuckleheads expected her to be, all bark, with a bite that either was made up of noisy tantrums with mild property damage, or made worse by her father’s backing, providing her with the muscle to effect whatever outcome she wanted. 

Catching her hand, Nick kissed the curled up fist, the taped down catheter in his hand wiggling uncomfortably with the motion, “Aww baby, it ain’t gonna come ta that. This was just a little accident, no harm, no foul, ya know? It’s your pops I’m worried ‘bout, he’s in a bad way.”

“Who fuckin’ cares?” nose wrinkling. “He’s an asshole, probably high as hell and not ready to learn from whatever stupid shit he got dumped on him this time.”

Saul finally interrupted, making Tony sound better than Nick was figuring was really true, “The docs said he’ll be alright, it’ll be awhile though.”

Twisting on the hospital bed, Ali’s lips pursed at the mobster, “Serves the fool right, and it’s no skin off my nose, Papa Saul. Golden Rule and reapin’ what’s sown isn’t just for the little people, you know. It’s why I don’t waste my time with all you guys, I don’t want to step into any of the shit flung about, it just makes a big mess and it’s not my business. That’s how I keep it, that’s how we all keep it, and that’s how I like it. If my father was so stupid that he rolled around in the dungheap like a dog at the park playin’ in skunk, that’s his own fault, and you ain’t gonna get any sympathy outta me.”

Nick touched her knee since it was the closest bit of her, his voice soft, “My pops an’ I ain’t real tight, but if he were in a bad way, he’s still my old man, an’ I’d at least look in on ‘im.” Ali cast him a displeased glance, but Nick soldiered on, hoping that this was all working for whatever tenuous net of protection being woven, “Tony’s still your pops, darlin’, an’ I say this as a guy who don’t get along with the guy on any personal level - you owe it to yourself at least ta see ta him some. It’s what’s right, that simple.”

“Kid’s right, Ali-cat,” Saul rasp-rumbled, a grey hand waved expansively. “We put aside certain things for our family when we’ve gotta do that, because you never know when it’s the last time you can make things right if they ain’t been or make another nice memory if it accidentally winds up bein’ the last without warnin’.”

“Papa Saul, I’ll believe in that Hallmark shit when pigs fly,” arms crossing, Ali’s chin came up. “That good for nothing, shit for brains, asshole wouldn’t be bothered if it were me in here.”

Saul snorted dismissively, “That ain’t true and you know it, kiddo. Tony gets real worried ‘bout you all the time.”

Nick backed up his boss, pointing out, “When my idiot cousin called you a word when you asked ‘im ta not be smokin’ so close to the door, Tony weren’t too pleased, an’ -”

“I’m aware of that Nick,” exasperated, Ali’s displeasure went deeper, crackling in the air, but she patted his hand. “He’s still a dirtbag and shit for brains, and I don’t want to bother with him. I just wanna take you back to my place, stuff you full’a lasagne and forget about everythin’ that I don’t like.”

George groaned from nearby, and Ali was out of Nick’s hospital bed before Nick could sit up straighter, or do anything else to act. His girl was quick, real quick, and Georgie’s groan became a curse while Ali softly murmured soothingly, and the sound of the button depressing for morphine clicked a couple times, instantly silencing his friend. Saul watched Nick, and Nick shrugged, brow up, while Ali’s back was turned. 

“Thanks baby, that goon would just thrash ‘round an’ make noise, an’ it woulda taken me too long ta get ta him to get him doped up s’more,” Nick gave her a tight smile as he thanked her - for far more than simply easing George’s pain. “He needs ta just lay back an’ chill, somebody got him a bit better than me but not so bad as Tony, huh? Gotta lay back an’ let shit get taken care of before tryin’ to make any trouble.”

Ali’s gaze slid from George, to Nick, to Saul, and she nodded, reaching back to pat George’s hand, stuffing the drip button into his grip, “Bad day for lots of mooks. I don’t care why or how or what, it’s not my place, you keep your yappers shut and business outta my way. If your friend ain’t got nobody to help take care of him when discharged, then he can come to my place. As for you though, mister, second you sign out, you’re comin’ with me, and I don’t wanna hear otherwise. Outside of my place, you do your thing, and I don’t care what it is, but inside it, you’re mine, _capiche_?”

“Yeah, sure, baby doll, you got it,” nodding agreeably because Saul was giving him that look that said he’d better be swift on it. 

“Alright you creeps, I’ll go see my father,” with a defeated eyeroll his girl conceded. “Don’t get into too much trouble, or I’ll be really unhappy with you.” She paused beside him, grabbing his chin, going up to squish his cheek, kiss him quick, “Nicki, you goofy goombah, better be on best behaviour, else I’ll start thinkin’ you’re all looks and no brains.” With that she scooped up her coat, handbag, another pause, rummaging in the purse, pulling free a book, and a partially squashed paperbag which was revealed to hold a cheesesteak, “This should keep you outta trouble and your flappin’ gums occupied with chow while I waste time on that dipshit.”

As she left, Nick winced, shoulders instantly hitching up towards his ears, as he heard Ali screech vitriolic insults at one of the crew who must not have moved out of her way fast enough. If he’d thought the crap she’d spouted off and piled on him a time or two - generally teasing rather than the tone of pure disgust being thrown about out there - was harsh, he half expected to hear someone get slapped. He wasn’t sure who’d be doing the slapping either, her or her victim. ‘Cept none of those dickheads would do that in public with cameras and lots of witnesses that they had to look a certain way before... It was a really screwed up dichotomy that ruled these things, Nick hadta say in the confines of his head. 

“Hrmph,” Saul stood beside him, a hitched sneer at the cheesesteak Nick was unwrapping, “girl’s got a mouth on her.”

Nick took a bite, chewing a few times before swallowing thickly, his stomach growling in ugly gurgles grateful to be getting something put into it finally, and used the time that took to formulate a response. “She’s Tony’s kid,” working the words out nonchalantly, shoulder hitching his dismissal. “It shows when she gets mad or when she wants somethin’.” Another swallow, making sure there wasn’t anything left, “When it ain’t aimed at me, s’kinda hot.”

Saul snorted, clapping him on the shoulder, jostling him, “Persistent, ain’t she?”

“You bet,” nodding, Nick took another big bite. Speaking around it carefully, “She ain’t like hearin’ no too good...an’ umn...you know, what’cha said, Saul, I-I did try ta steer clear, but she _is_ Tony’s kid, an’, an’ I didn’t wanna make trouble, an’ she ain’t so bad -”

Saul held up a hand, “Say no more, Nick, I got what’cha mean. You keep your head down, this’ll blow over. When she’s bored with you, you keep your mouth shut and nothin’ll get messed up. Dames like that move on fast, but make more problems if you try to get away before they’re done. It’ll all blow over, Nicki, that’s the way of it.” The boss’ hand slid to the back of Nick’s neck, making him feel small, as the dark shark gaze bored into him, “You did alright today kid. You done the right thing protectin’ Tony, history aside.”

Nodding slightly, Nick’s eyes fell to stare at his hands, the cheesesteak held like it was some edible talisman to cling to, “He’s protected, I got it, I’ll do what I gotta, Saul. For family.”

And he didn’t mean the mob one either, not that Saul would guess.

A light shake, “Good. Keep your chin up.”

As soon as the door closed and Saul was gone, Nick was struggling out of the bed with his little saline drip and shit, because George was swearing and while the morphine Ali had administered earlier probably helped keep him groggy, at least long enough to figure keepin’ his mouth shut while Saul was in the room may be smart, Nick wouldn’t count on George stayin’ calm much longer. Socked feet on sterile linoleum was pretty fuckin’ slippery, but Nick managed okay, and as he scoot-hobbled hauling the drip and monitor stand one handed, he also yanked the privacy curtain around George’s bed. Confused, hazy, but angry blue eyes met his, and George snarled, trying to twitch and heave his big frame but was unable to for the shock of pain.

The sight of that made Nick wanna beat his chest from the guilt, and he quickly moved closer, pressing a hand to the center of the big man’s chest, his voice urgent, desperate, “George, hear me out before you go for my throat, _please_.” His eyes burned and Nick grabbed his best friend’s jaw, holding his mouth shut to keep back any yelling, but while his touch was firm, it was light enough to hopefully get through that he wasn’t gonna hurt him, he just needed him to stay quiet for a minute. “Georgie, Georgie, you gotta listen, just open your ears for a minute, I swear, an’ lemme say my piece, an’ afters, if you still wanna serve me up, you can, an’ I won’t fight you.”

Huffing and puffing, face red with dawning recollection of the betrayal, George growled but stopped trying to move, and when Nick let go the other man’s jaw, “Some friend I’ve got. Say it, get it over with. I’m alive, that buys you couple’a minutes of my time I guess.”

“Georgie, I love you like a brother, for real,” that wasn’t what he meant to say, but it was true. That burning in his eyes got worse, and Nick blinked, then winced as the tears he refused to accept left hot tracks behind, but at least it was only two of the fuckers. “If it weren’t for you, I know, I know I’d be dead or worse so many fuckin’ times over, I owe my life to you, an’ I _know_ it, an’ I love you for it. You’ve been to me what I do my best to be to Vito. You’re as important ta me as my blood.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ funny way of showin’ that,” the grunt was bluster, covering hurt, and Nick let the hand on Georgie’s chest go for the hustler’s uninjured one to squeeze it, hoping to convey that he was sorry.

“You’re right, Georgie, fightin’ you, bustin’ you up, shootin’ you - all’a that, all kinds of wrong,” Nick agreed. “I could say I ain’t have no choice, but we know that’s not true. I coulda killed you an’ become the worst thing ever, a total traitor to someone who’s my friend, my family, when I ain’t got no one to ever rely upon but myself before.” Jabbing the air with an index finger, “But that shit woulda killed me, you know that, right? Havin’ to live with that, may as well have shot myself.”

Nick tried not to feel any twinge of hope as he could all but watch the thoughts moving around in George’s head as he asked warily, “Then why the fuck did ya do it, Nick? You coulda just shot Tony, this’d be over, and I wouldn’t be in this fuckin’ rack.”

And that was where George’s thoughts hadn’t moved past to see beyond the horizon. It was so clear cut, so simple. Black and white, Tony’s dead, body disposed, no problem, no consequence, no repercussion. But whether or not Nick was connected to it, George woulda been hunted, with Nick helpless to do anything to protect him. And if it’d gone down the way Georgie had _expected_ and _wanted_ it to go, then both of them would be hunted, taken down, tortured, and left to rot in pieces, with no one to mourn them really, just forgotten grease stains on Boston’s shoe.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he countered, shifting the bar meant to keep patients from falling outta their beds, so he could sit and still hang onto George’s hand. Only Nick knew how the other guy was afraid of needles, and worse, afraid of going in for a small procedure, only to wake missing organs, or if under anesthetic, to awaken paralyzed during the operation, unable to let anyone know he was aware and in agony. It was something George had revealed back in Shirley, and an abscessed tooth had to be removed. Nick’d had to time a bit of work for himself so he could act as quiet backup and sense of security to the older man. “Or, no, wait, you’re actually right, things’d be over, an’ you wouldn’t be in this hospital.” Leaning forward, “You’d be tied to a chair like Tony was, or maybe a table, an’ every mobster with beef at losin’ Tony would take their pound’a flesh from you with plenty of interest. Or maybe you’d still be loose, but any dame you may’ve gone with, they’d be questioned, somebody’d get hurt, this shit gets outta hand real easy when unprofessional behaviour’s goin’ on, or someone hopin’ ta flush you outta hidin’ over it was havin’ fun... Some may’ve gone ta my house, hurt my family, Pops ain’t your favourite person, but you know how bad that shit’d hurt me if he got whacked. Or Vito who ain’t able ta hurt a fly, with a real future ahead of him - say they worked on him, lookin’ for us, or you, or me, or ta draw us out.” Lips pursing as he watched George’s brain which was generally good at figuring out long hustles finally start putting together the pieces Nick was laying out, “Or, hey, let’s throw Ali in. Now, if there ain’t nobody more innocent in all’a this than Vito an’ some of your old girls, it’s Ali. She flees from any hint’a this shit. If Tony was dead, then there’d be no reason to take it easy on her, ‘specially since they all know she’s sweet on me an’ me and that I’m at least happy ta bone’er. You know I’d go do somethin’ stupid to keep them safe, an’ so would you, because you know who didn’t bring nuthin’ of this shit down on theyselves, an’ that it’d just be our fault for it. So, yeah, you’re right, if I’d let you keep on keepin’ on, or let you guys push me ta break...we wouldn’t be right here, an’ it would be done or almost done.”

“Hell no, we’d - we’d’ve figured some shit out,” George said, then instantly looked away from him, unable to really buy that anymore. “Fuck you Nick.”

“Yeah, fuck me,” agreeably, tired. “When I saw Tony, I didn’t see Tony, I saw us, an’ I saw anyone who sold us a fuckin’ cheesesteak, or a bottle of pop, or a beer. I saw the shit that the crew’s’d do to us, because it ain’t matter if they’re mostly old fucks, enough of ‘um, an’ some dough flung to young punks, an’ we’d go down. It’s just numbers, George, we’d go down, an’ never come back up. But I couldn’t do you dirty, George, that ain’t in me. Right now, if I thought I could get away with it clean, I’d off anybody what looked at me wrong out there, because I’m sick, I’m tired, an’ I’m scared, Georgie. Way worse than in the parkin’ garage with the lawyer. Way worse than anythin’, because there’s no goin’ back, an’ I knew I was sellin’ my soul to the Devil, but I thought I’d get at least a little somethin’ for it...” He shrugged, snorting, “Shoulda realized my shit’s so worthless that it’s not even worth claimin’, but the Devil, he can always use another rube to jerk around, huh?” Squeezing his hand, Nick picked it up, grabbing it with the other one too, trying to press all the information in through that touch, “It’s a shit job, but it was the only way to buy a bit of safety for you, otherwise, I’d’a just taken care of me, an’ drank myself ta death later on for the guilt. Lemme save your thick hide, Georgie, lemme cover your ass the way you’ve done for me, just this once, an’ later on, when we’re clear, you can take it outta my hide for all these dents n’dings I somehow managed ta get on you.”

Lips rolling, grimacing, George knew there wasn’t nothing to do about it, and that no matter how angry he was at what Nick had done to him, they both knew that George was aware this was the only out available. It was a better one, an honest one, compared to Tony’s, but now George would never be entirely certain if Nick would turn on him. That made him feel even worse, but Nick couldn’t do anything other than do his best to sell the line of bullshit and cover up any possible routes to counter his versions of events.

Finally, nodding, “Fine, tell me what I gotta do.”

“First, you gotta keep your mouth shut,” confident and easy going, this part was simple enough...or would be until George got a few drinks in himself. “Second, if asked why you was there, it’s because you was there with the twenty-five grand you owed Tony’s bookie.”

George interrupted, “I ain’t got that money, Nick, and even if I did -”

“Shut it, I ain’t done yet, you lemme finish, an’ you can wrangle after,” growling, Nick popped him on the forehead once. “ _I_ got enough green to cover that in a pinch. But you was there, waitin’ pretty as you please, with the twenty-five large. You ain’t see that there was somebody else there, you just got pain from a bullet, an’ then you got worked over, but you was incapacitated, got it? Three bullets got you down, big ass whack on the head, got you stupid down, an’ rollin’ ‘round on the gravel n’shit. All you seen was some sneakers you think, or maybe boots, you can’t remember right one minute to the next.” Reassuring, “That’s real normal for head strikes like that, an’ sudden shock without no kinda warnin’.”

“Fine,” growling acquiescence.

“Meanwhile, Tony went to tha wrong area of the place, an’ he showed up later, he met the wrong end of the same guy who was lookin’ for some payback, or just some fun, or just so coked up an’ crazy, he ain’t got no sense,” Nick recounted, and George was nodding, gaze inwards, able to see it. “Me, I show up because you’d left me a fuckin’ pile of messages but while I’m on m’way over there, I get a call an’ yelled at by Tony because he wants ta know where you are, an’ I say hold on, I’ll come over, because I ain’t know what the deal is, yeah? So, I show up, in this other area, an’ see Tony’s on the chair, then our neighbourhood idiot tries ta fuck with me, but he musta been tired, or surprised by my showin’ up, an’ while he got me good, I still chased ‘im off.”

“Nick, the fuckin’ hero, huh? Asshole,” making a face. “Can’t be any other way, I guess...”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d put it all on you if I could get away with it, I ain’t want nothin’ ta do with this situation,” Nick rolled his eyes equally unhappy. “Long story short, someone got the drop on all’a us, made off with a pile of cash, an’ left us scramblin’ with scrambled brains ta figure out who done it.”

George must have heard something in his voice, “Wait - you figurin’ on who to finger.”

It left a bad taste in his mouth, “Yeah, I know just the dude, an’ nobody’ll miss him. He’s got beef with’chu with a side’a me, he’s hard inta nose candy, an’ he’s half crazy...we got him good, so why not get us, an’ stir up the pot too? Sounds like fun to blowjobs like that, yeah?” Before George could say anything, “Soon as I sign outta here, I’ll handle it, Georgie, no matter how sick it makes me, ‘cause now, now it’s our lives on the line, an’ I ain’t gonna go down like some weak punk. If it’s us livin’ an’ them dyin’, I’ll do what I gotta. You sit back an’ rest up, Ali’s gonna put you up at her place while you heal, an’ I’ll take out the trash, pull out what dough I can ta ‘recover’, an’ then we’ll hafta figure out some way around Tony.” His friend began to speak, and Nick grabbed his chin, “Ah-ah, you can’t do that, you’re the one what got us cornered, so you’ll just hafta let me figure out that shit. After this is all through, you do what’chu want, just don’t drag me down, an’ I’ll do what I can to cover for you whenever, wherever possible.”

"You look like a rat, but you sometimes're smarter than that, more like a weasel," George wasn't pleased, and no, Nick still wasn't either. "Fuck you, Nicki, fuck you for bein' more than a smartass."

"Love you too, ya fuckin’ prick," Nick tapped his chest, then pressed the morphine button for George. "You lay back and fuckin' chill. I'm gonna go wander like I got meds for brains an' my backside out, too addled ta come up with a story in trade for another few days livin', huh?"

XXX

There’d been so many thugs outside that Ali had wanted to hyperventilate. She’d felt like a pig slathered in fresh blood walking through a pen filled with tigers on all sides, separated by only weak metal gates. No fear got shown, because Sal Vitaglia weren’t the worst ones that had been present, no matter what the old guys believed. Each group that had established some sort of fucked up mutual alliance truce at some point, years before her birth, had sent a few to pretend to care about her father. They didn’t, Ali wouldn’t be so stupid as to think something like that, but they cared about the fact that it was through him that a hearty chunk of their money, illegal girls, and drugs moved via her father’s business. Ali had long ago figured out that it was far, far more than she wanted to know, but it was hard to not have absorbed lots of things from simply possessing a set of ears at any time in her life. Add the repeated social events that her father all but forced her to attend with some regularity even now, where dirtbags of every race and creed gathered a few of their numbers to play nice like some mockery of diplomatic soirees, and Ali knew far, far too much about what kinds of animals were in the waiting room and why. Oh, they were concerned for her father’s health, concerned for his business, but they were also all watching one another, an armistice of wait and see to find out how to keep their own business prospects safe and maybe even who to blame for the slow down the last few days’ of lost profits. 

Ali had walked through that gauntlet, casting her own shadow, the soft power that was all she possessed to defend herself against these leeches who sold all manner of poison to society. Even though she didn’t know most of the men present, she could identify most of their origins, and as they watched her with stonecold inhuman gazes, Ali had spat her barbs, causing each to shift aside one way or another. Unlike with her Nicki, there was no warmth or dance in her words, her sharp shrewish motions that bid these monsters move out of her way or suffer her wrath. A Hispanola by the tattoos all over his neck and hands, hadn’t moved fast enough, subtly taunting, trying to one-up the wounded mob boss’ daughter. As herself, Ali would never, ever do anything other than slink into a shadow and find the fastest escape from the snake before her...but as Tony’s daughter, Ali must do something or risk the tenuous bit of posturing that she’d cultivated as a shield that she was trying to stretch, no matter how thin, over Nicki and his friend. If she hadn’t had a plan, if she wasn’t going to carry it out all the way, Ali wouldn’t do what she did. 

Ladylike silver knuckles that had been rapidly slipped on inside her pocket, gaudy and hideous in their own fashion because it was fashioned like three cocktail rings, but had been the daintiest she had been able to find years ago, flashed in the hospital sere light as she backhanded the medium height, broad chested and shouldered Latino man. She cursed at him, flailed her hand dismissively, and hissed, readying another smack to show those verbal spears she shot out could actually be followed by actions sometimes. A Triad, clean cut and in a perfectly fitted suit, younger, younger than her Nicki she’d bet, called the Hispaniola away with a taunt that trying to jockey over an upset woman seeking out her father, was something only the truly green did. Ali spared neither male another glance, but suspected that the Triad had saved her dealing with a public attack - one which would have been nipped in the bud swiftly, but still. No, she would have to watch for a backstab later, some assault or act to put her in her place, scare her where the disparate groups weren’t all under one another’s eye in a weird ass Mexican standoff of mutually assured modest behaviour.

The stupid goons her father always had around sucking on his balls and doing his dirty work since he couldn’t be assed to do it himself, guarded the inside of the hospital room. She threw those out promptly, her father watching it all from a cocoon of medical devices. Since he waved an imperious hand, backing her up, they left. If her father hadn’t, well, Ali had a reputation for a mouth so cruel that it was generally considered the one irrefutable proof as to who her father was. 

Ali checked the viewing windows’ blinds, rotating them for proper privacy, the weight of her father’s gaze on her every move, and when the blinds were shuttered properly, she couldn’t help sagging against the closed door, heaving a sigh of relief. This was so much worse than the parade-your-mob-kids-around parties to show off, especially one as ‘prime’ as herself. Her father had, more than once, used her as some sort of little symbolic prize, like an offer of her hand to some fuckwad’s son or nephew or uncle or whatever, even a man older than her father if the offer had been good enough, to secure an insecure business like it was a form of criminal aristocracy. Truthfully, she could fucking do without any of it, and didn’t want to be eyed as a key to what her father would leave behind when he died. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” her father spoke with that thick accent with that stupid false formality he thought was a display of his superiority, still watching her as she tried to let the tension that had infected her every move as soon as Saul had begun to follow her into Nick’s room a little bit ago, forcing her to start the louder song and dance before she’d wanted.

Just a moment, just a minute or two, with Nick to make sure he really was okay, to get some idea of what the fuck was going on and see just how bad the situation was... But no, she’d had to don that flighty, virulently mawkish voice, ratcheting up her Eastside accent so that every word out of her mouth had an ugly glass shard edge to it. First Papa Saul, and now, her actual father - why did she bother being aggravated or surprised? They were predictable roaches that thrived on making misery in different ways.

Back of her head against the institutional grey-blue steel door, Ali cast him a disapproving look, “My Nicki actually. It’s only because of him that I’m in here with you.”

What seemed to be a flash of surprise was in his bloodshot and blackened eyes, “How ‘bout that, punk did what he’d said.”

Ali puckered her lips in a puff, she heaved herself away from the door and moved to her father’s bedside, and looked for a decent place to sit. There wasn’t one of the right height, no matter how her gaze went over the heavy padded guest chair and two smaller ones, “Nicki’s a hustler, I’ll agree, but you’d be surprised how little he has to do to get done whatever he’s said he’ll do.” Finally deciding there was nothing for it, she began fussing and carefully situating things around her father and moving wires, lowering one of the side rails so she could be seated. “If he wants you to do something, and promises to encourage you, he’ll deliver on that promise. It’s his way, and I don’t got to like what he uses it for, but I can still admire that about him.” Her father raised a sour brow, mottled face contorting until he winced, and Ali arched over, continuing to neaten things the way she wanted, as though she were here without a goal in mind. “My Nicki’s one of the only people I’ve met in my whole life who’ll do what he says without being threatened, blackmailed, or manipulated. Guess that’s what happens when you’re Tony Mantazano’s daughter, it makes the very idea of someone dealing straight without resorting to threats or brute force, is pretty fucking foreign, isn’t it, Daddy?”

“Speak up, Alessandro, I can’t hear you right,” her father had waited her out, eyes narrowed and listening to probably find out what the initial volley of the _danse macabre_ would be this time. His rejoinder was that, and a busted finger wiggling in his ear canal in a grand display, “Because it sure as shit sounds like you compared me to that little fuckin’ salad tosser you been bangin’. I know my daughter ain’t givin’ me that sorta lip.”

Unruffled, Ali reached out in apparent curiosity, selecting one of the most painful looking bandages and gave it a light prod...before jamming her thumb in, and hissed softly in sympathy as her father jolted in shock, “Oh, I’m sorry, Daddy. You’re right, my Nicki and you ain’t got nothing in common. He wouldn’t have reacted to that booboo like you stickin’ it in Mom when she didn’t cooperate...” Wistfully, “If I push it again, will you make that same noise? It almost makes me feel like she’s here with us and I miss her.”

Revulsion was surprising in how it made her father’s entire bearing cause him to instinctively try to put distance between them. “What’s gotten into you, kid? That’s filthier than you got any right to be, Alessandro. What went on between your bitch mother and me ain’t your business, so don’t bring that shit into this.”

“Daddy,” chiding, Ali smiled, patting his cheek, “you’re bein’ silly. Of course Mom’s part of this. She’s always been part of shit. I mean, you fuckin’ plotted for me, how many times did you tell me that when I wasn’t making you happy? That if it weren’t for you, that I wouldn’t exist, because you ruined all Mom’s birthcontrol pills, poked holes in her diaphragm... And then when she found out she was pregnant, you kept her locked at the house under how many guards so she wouldn’t try to abort me? Usually you were yellin’ about it because I came out a girl instead of the boy you’d hoped to pass the business onto. But Mom, Mom’s definitely part of all this, because she carried me, she cared for me, and you...you did fuckall for me except when forced. Isn’t it sad that your two toys didn’t work out the way you wanted them to?” Batting her lashes, Ali’s hand moved to straighten her father’s hospital gown shoulder, but he tensed, expecting her to jam her thumb into the wound there again. “You did get through to me eventually, you know, I’m a good listener, under the table, in the closet, hiding in the pantry, hoping your anger and instructions would ease up. Then, later on, from the dining table while doing my homework, mouth shut while you helped Mom with her ‘medicine’ that helped her not be so sad... Here I sit, Daddy, and you wanted a son, but you’ve got me... And I am your daughter, aren’t I?” 

Booping him on the nose, she fished out her bag of snow for him, letting him see the clear double layered plastic. She wasn’t real sure what the street value on it would be, last time she remembered, three and a half grams was about a hundred and fifty bucks for moderate quality, but what was in her hand was quite a bit more than that. A dealer sized bag, it had to have at least eight or nine eight-balls in the plastic. Opening the seals carefully, Ali brought out the spoon her parents had used the most - that it was a silver spoon with her name on it from Italy, and had been a present for first birthday was just sort of gross. Cynically, she had to admit that at least it got used regularly, why let a silver spoon go to waste?

Scooping up a little, she offered it to him, then paused, “Wait, I forgot, nose, they’ll check that, won’t they Daddy?”

“Gimme that,” her father sitting forward trying to get the serving for himself, but she rocked back farther, shaking her head, tutting.

“Nah-uh,” scooting out of reach, she used the spoon herself, the acrid burn hitting a sudden burst of bitter in the back of her throat, numbness swiftly spreading. Her head buzzed, and she gathered up a second small heap for the other nostril, and she watched her father tearing his gaze away, but she noted that his hands shaking as she snorted a few times, took a moment to stretch her cheeks so it all flowed back and gagged a little. “I’ve had a bad day, Daddy. I mean, not so bad as yours obviously, and I remember that lesson too. When life gets rough, you snort a few bumps to get you over the humps, bitter sugar to make it easier, yeah? What’s it you used to tell Mom? You’d tell her to give you some sugar and you’d let her have hers before humpin’ her uselessly like one of those little pomeranians on a balloon? Really, good job, looking back, I’m amazed you even managed to find the hole to stick it in to make me, maybe all your planning on a living leash for her paid off...well, sorta, since I’m not a boy.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about your mother,” grimacing, unhappy at seeing her with drugs that she was either using and not sharing, not sharing, or the fact that she was using - who the hell knew the mind of her father? Ali had given up on it years ago. 

Stuffing the spoon into the baggie, Ali used the back of her hand to delicately rub her nose, the tip of which was doing a fuzzy-tingle numb tickle, “Yeah, well, if it weren’t for her, this bag wouldn’t be here. Found the old stash you both left behind. For you, guess you didn’t even notice it was missing with how much you have layin’ around the club, huh?” Her father cast her a quick glance, and she wiggled her nose at him while drawing a deep sniff to prevent any running, “Wish I’d remembered it sooner, there’s been enough times where what I could make off of this would have made the difference between ramen packs with SPAM if I paid my rent, or three squares and all bills paid too... You know, it’s not that I’m bad with money, it’s just that I keep forgetting that the government owns me and can hit me up for student loan payments. They’re so easy to forget, because what do my history degrees do for me? Fuck all. Hell, they’re probably the only thing in my life more useless than you. They cost me money while doin’ nothing, you, you cost me my future, my hopes, my dreams, Mom... Okay, you know what? You may still be worse, because one’s just money I don’t really have but maybe I can find enough to replace it later, and everythin’ on your side is anythin’ most would consider a human right.”

“If you were more grateful for the things you got and knew how to pay proper respect to your elders, you wouldn’t have to chose between that shit,” her father growled, while jaming his shaking hands in an attempt to mask it with his arms crossing. Looking at him, Ali was pretty certain that whoever had beaten him, had meant to toy with him to death, and whatever the doctors did, it wouldn’t be enough to fix him for too long even without her intended assistance. Teeth gritting as the shifting caused pain, the morphine controller was fished for and pressed repeatedly...but both of them heard the lack of telltale ‘whoomp’ whisper that said the dispense had added something to ease his pain. “But you’re just like your slut of a mother, always gotta be your way, never bein’ thankful for the gifts others give you, how they bend over backwards for you -”

Ali shoved the spoon into his mouth, silencing him, “Thanks? You want me to thank you, to thank you for the shit a parent is suppose to do? What’s that? It wasn’t you turnin’ tricks and beggin’ to keep food on the table, doing risky shit to try and buy a single present for a birthday or Christmas or to afford to send me to school with basic supplies and shoes without holes in them. No, that was Mom, who you had blackballed from everything so she couldn’t find any chance at work that you didn’t control, just because she got tired of you beating on her, and worse, doing it all in front of me. No, it was Mom trying to be a parent, no matter the cost to herself, just doing her best to do what little she could to hope I didn’t grow up thinking a man should do what you did to her every time you remembered she was smarter than you, more talented than you, just... _more_.” Mouing in disgust at the thick saliva on the spoon once she finally removed it, absentmindedly she cleaned it up, everything about her the manner of a tired mother relenting to pressure. “Fine, you want my thanks? You’ve got it. Thank you for cutting Mom’s break and transmission lines, I didn’t need a real parent anyway. Thank you for selling my virginity on my fourteenth birthday to some greasy old fat fuck who hoped a virgin twat could cure his queer son of gayness, a son that committed suicide over a few years later, clearly my goods weren’t up to the job of canceling out nature. Thank you for raising me in a household where I was more familiar with the smell of you cooking up Mom’s speedballs than food in the kitchen of the seven bedroom mansion that was more whore- and crackhouse than home.” 

She watched him, and instead of allowing him another spoonful, she withdrew one of those small vodka flask style bottles that had been half empty, and added a splash to his empty, pink water cup, then stirred in cocaine. Snorting would be obvious, and eating it wouldn’t work for now. Reciting warmly, “Thank you for breaking every promise you made me, even the smallest one, that you would tuck me in...you never did, not once in all the years I tried so hard to be a daughter you could love. Thank you for being so shallow you don’t even qualify as pondscum, but envy anyone else with more depth than you, so thank you for trying to suck it all out of Mom, thank you for trying to drain me of everything I am. And look - now you’ve got a new victim, maybe he won’t be able to resist, it’s backfired a bit, granted, and he’s the hero for today, but you’ll turn that around, so thank you for whatever cruelty you’re planning on doing to Nicki.” Head cocked, holding the cup but not quite to him yet, “You want me to continue? I got almost thirty years of thanks I owe you.” Swishing the cup at him, “But damn, Daddy, you don’t look so good, do you really think this’ll help you?”

“You gonna hand it over before or after you piss and moan at me?” sullen, wary.

“Y’know, that’s a good question, and I can definitely tell I’m your daughter, because the very idea of makin’ you beg for it gets me feelin’ all warm and fuzzy,” but she handed it to him. “It’s a disgusting feeling, because it’s so easy to indulge. So take your fuckin’ medicine, Daddy. And I don’t require your gratitude for it either...maybe because I know how it’s not worth anything anyway. You couldn't manage the most basic of things, could you? So, thank you very much for a lifetime where I learned what your word was worth and to never believe in anything you offer, any gift you give, because it’s all make believe used to make a person feel relieved for a split second, while you probably rub one out over how easy it is for you to crush others’ smallest hope. You’re god, Daddy, so, thanks for showing me that, wouldn’t wanna forget it, or I may actually want something from you like going out to lunch and just talkin’, or ten minutes of your time. I gotta thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that shit, Daddy, I learned real good.”

The blended substance was downed rapidly, but it wasn’t enough, it’d never be enough, even as she watched him sigh in brief relief. His ragged breathing leveled out, and Ali sat still, watching, waiting, patient as the spider in her web. This was a lifetime in coming, she wouldn’t rush it, rushing was sloppy, no jumping ahead, no pushing one way or another before the scene was properly prepped, the target softened up just right. 

Purpled lids fluttered open, irises focusing on the baggie in her one hand, the vodka in the other, and he licked his lips unconsciously. Ali remembered that look on Mom’s face, usually when the pressure of everything was so bad, and the violence, the despair was so deep, she couldn’t think beyond the next fix, just to be a little bit more numb to handle the world. Nodding jerkily at her hands, “You got alotta shit built up, I guess. If you want me to sit still an’ listen to it -”

 

“No,” Ali quirked a brow. “I have things to do, and I’ve given you all the thanks I can fucking stomach. In the other room, there’s a man who hasn’t raised his voice to me ever. Raised a hand to me, not ever. No, I don’t wanna bother with you another second when I’ve got someone who may be neck deep in mob shit I’d love to never know a whisper about, but is the only real man I’ve ever known. But when you’re all I’ve got to compare to, I suppose that’s understandable and he may not be so great. Except he helps because he’s there, he gives because he can. He is a man comfortable in caring for those he’s responsible for and needs no thanks, because his ego isn’t so fragile as the ones that comes as part of the standard package for all you other sleezeballs.” Ali rose, and said thoughtfully, “I should thank you for that, too. Teaching me everything a man wasn’t, so when I found one, I knew what I had found.”

Everything was put away, her back to him, her jackets all pulled on their proper layers, measured and slow, and she was taking the few steps to the door, when her father spoke. “What do you want from me, Ali? You want what?”

Ali’s hand on the door, she twisted to look at him, “You’ve got nothing to put up as collateral. Because anything I ask for, you’d promise me until blue in the face, but like I said, you taught me the exact worth of your words, and they ain’t worth the breath you use to say ‘um.” Scanning his supine form, she let her disgust show, “Look at you, you’re shaking like a palsied junkie cryin’ over his last dime spent on a hit that turned out to be fake. You want me in here for one reason only, and it wasn’t my thanks or love you wanted, but the fuckin’ numb the coke brings. Well, people in Hell want ice water, Daddy, doesn’t mean they’ll get it. There’s nothin’ here to bargain with, and my time’s as valuable to me, as your coke is to you.”

“Fine, fine, your way then,” and the shattered pride was there, and Ali found seeing him like that didn’t touch her at all, as her father struggled to sit up and look ready to deal... Normal folks would feel something, right? Horror? Appalled? Or pleasure at seeing a villain punished? None of that was there, nothing, not even when the realization struck her that she was probably the only person in existence to see him laid this low, low enough to _beg_. Whoever had gone to town on him probably hadn’t gotten him that low, since everything Tony stood for meant he’d pick death rather than be willing to submit... Ali had him cornered and he was rolling right over to submit to her, a little pressure would get him full on begging.

She held her inspection of him until the reflexive swallowing clicked a few times with dryness, audible even across the room. “When was the last time you bothered to designate a caretaker in the event of illness?”

Her question took him off guard, “Your mother was the last...”

Nose crinkled in disdain, “It’s a wonder you’ve ever managed to survive anything, Daddy. You’re a blathering idiot with his balls in hand and axe flailing about in the other. A will? A living will? Estate? _Any_ sort of backup plans for if you got sick or couldn’t handle everything with an iron fist from sundown to sunup?” Her exasperation wasn’t forced at all as she read the answer there on his face, “Really? _You’re_ one of the most powerful business men in Boston, and you couldn’t even do this? Yeah, I know, not all your shit is above board and fit to list in those kinds of documents, but really? Really? _You_ are the great mind that helps keep the status quo? God, your brain’s been as rotted inside out as your body, fine, that’s my price and we’ll do it right now. Damn you, that’s my price - we’re makin’ up the documentation as best we can, with multiple witnesses and signed statement, because much as it offends me, if the stability’s upset, I could lose Nick, and I won’t let that happen. When you get signed outta here, I’ll take care of you until you’re not soiling yourself from how trashed you are, and you’ll fucking like it, because it’s better than you deserve, and anyway, those monkeys out there wouldn’t be able to handle it even if you preferred them over me, they’d probably accidentally kill you. So, you’ll never complain again and you won’t ever fuckin’ ask me for anything, you’ll not cause me or Nicki problems, nor call out favours for it either. That’s the terms, and I’m gonna start writin’, and -” as she spoke, Ali fished for a legal pad she’d brought for the very purpose, but also a small handheld recorder, “- we’ll get every single fuckwit out there to sign it and the copies I’ll make, so it’ll stand in real court, but also to the bloodthirsty fuckers you deal with.”

Softly Ali muttered to herself, a cute show of irritation at her father, males in general, crime syndicates, and the uselessness of all the above. Having set up her little pad, her blue pen swiftly, elegantly and precisely traveled, really, it was fairly simple terms. She was his caretaker in the event of illness or injury, his heir to all assets. Exact handwritten copies were made, each with statements that needed his initials and signature, but that would wait a moment more because she needed his passcodes and locations of books that wouldn’t be possible to list in the main documentation which she would be submitting to a lawyer as soon as she possibly could. The real business stuff, the books, the codes, etc, took a bit of sweetening on her part, but she didn’t mind. The trade in the immediate for her father, to his way of thinking, was that she would sit with him for awhile and keep feeding him the vodka and cocaine mixture. But he would get tired of it before it finished the job, which was why she had something else he liked on hand that she would bring out as encouragement soon, the stampbags secured and everything, she’d even brought an old cooking spoon, cotton, and lighter. 

After he polished off his latest dose of cocaine, Ali poured him some real water, urging him to drink it, which he did but while she’d intended on making her public call to the guys out there for witness, her father’s hand grabbed hers, holding it to the top of the hospital table-tray. “That fag you go so moon eyed over, he ain’t nothin’ but a fraud.”

 

Lips twitching, “Of course he is, Daddy. And I’d rather a fraud like him than a sack of shit like anything else around here.” Pulling her hand free from his grip, “‘Course he’d say that plants and life and new growth spring up from sacks of shit, but I could do without the stench of pissing contests and testosterone so powerful it overcomes that foul ocean of cologne they drown in. But this isn’t about any of that right now, Daddy, I’m gonna make sure you are put in a position that your promises will be good, and my payment is secured. Once they’re all nice and happy signy on these backup plans, you and I can sit down and play happy father daughter bonding time just like you want. All while you enjoy your ability to not feel how old you really are these days.”

Outside the room, she was once more Tony Mantazano’s cunt of a daughter. Song and dance, badgering and pestering, shrill tones and cajoling, she got the important ones to come in and sign and witness her father sign and initial as required. Additionally, each copy received a sworn statement that her father was making the legal documentation willingly and not under duress, while of sound mind, and of course all of those came with witness signatures too. 

Ali covered her ass and then some, muttering and growling, uncaring of whom she was insulting in the encompassing statement, since that was the sort of vitriol she was known for anyway, “God, I should kill you myself, I'm not your damn mother to clean up after your messes...Jesus... Damn you're a stupid cross to bear... Pantywaists afraid of a senile old shithead, really, I'd ask how it could get any more pitiful, but I think I'd start vomiting when I got the answer, because there’s really no other response to the situation."

“You watch your tone, Ali-cat,” Saul admonished in that voice she knew was supposed to come off as sternly paternal, but it made her stomach roil, knowing he was trying to put himself over her, “that’s your father there, and he deserves your respect. And all of us present are here as his friends, and deserve some courtesy. You were taught better than that.”

 

Ali smiled as she glanced up, a big, bright, sweet one, “Papa Saul, you above everybody should know that I wasn’t raised better than that at all. Mom turned tricks to feed me when you guys all closed doors in her face because she and Daddy were having a rough patch, so it’s only through doing my best to better myself that I don’t sound like your average fuckwit hoodrat. Hell, some days I’m amazed I can read and know how to do much of anythin’ - most grownups around me back then didn’t have the time to try and socialize me, I just knew hookin’ and bookie behaviour. It’s okay though, water under the bridge, but it left me with the habit of blown’ off some steam...just like Daddy does. Like father, like daughter, the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

The other handful of assholes in the room had their gazes focused on both her father and Saul, scenting a fresh influx of blood in the water, but her father headed it all off, “Hey, let’s get this shit done. The room looks cluttered with all’a you guys in here.” Pen click, her father awkwardly shifted in his hospital bed to look over the legal documents, “Alessandro, we forgot one thing. You’re my daughter, and so long as I’m up an’ around, that’s not a problem. If I ain’t up an’ around, like right now, you still need a guy who’s got a voice, because, kiddo, you ain’t really got one.”

“Now Tony, you know I’m fond of Ali-cat, even when she’s not fond’a me,” Saul played the elderly gentleman role, a distant dinosaur who most respected but few feared much anymore. Ali knew they were all stupid for dismissing him, no matter how withered and frail he was these days, he was still dangerous.

Glasses were pushed up his nose, her father looking at the silver haired man born of Sicilian immigrants with only a modicum of patience, “Yeah, well, she ain’t fond of you, or much of anybody in case you ain’t noticed. Which is too bad, I must agree, but we’re doin’ this for everythin’ to stay stable, otherwise, I wouldn’t be wasting my time, nobody here would. Keep business goin’. So, we gotta do some make-do shit for the moment.” Snapping his fingers, not looking up at his lackey, John, “Hey, Johnny, go fetch that punk my daughter actually don’t scream at every other second. I ain’t care if his ass is half out in his hospital gown, just get’im in here.”

Ali snapped, crossing her arms, “ _Don’t_ damage the merch, I like him intact and functional. So _ask_ him to trundle his cute butt in here.”

John froze halfway to the door, desperately looking around at those in her father’s room, like they’d heard something else other than what she said. “Uh...what? Do-do I gotta say what?”

"Use your manners you idiot, if you've got any that is. Go out there, in the waitin' room, and if Nicki's milling about trying to not fall asleep, tell him he's wanted in here for a minute. If he's not there, then he's prolly at the vendin' machine snarfin' down on somethin'. You can buy him listenin' to you for a minute instead of clockin’ you, by gettin' him a Butterfinger or some other thing, and help him get his biteable heinie up here, and don’t forget that whoever hurt my baby got his brain a little more rattled than he's used to, so be patient...." Ali instructed, while inspecting her neatly trimmed nails. Glancing his way, "You heard me, get on with it. But so help me, if there's one more bruise on him when he gets here, I'll feed you to Georgie. Even half passed out, he's more than you can handle." Most every head turned towards her in disbelief, like she'd lost her mind, and Ali shrugged, "What? He's better lookin' than any of you slobs and is hung like a mule with the stamina of a freakin’ machine and only needs some Gatorade and a Powerbar to recharge his motor for another twelve hours, and don’t get me started on what that man can do with them hands and that tongue. He's no good to me damaged. As is, I'll be high and dry for a few days until he's healed up...or I could just ride 'im like a pony, but that sounds like too much effort."

“Ugh, file that under shit I ain’t ever needed to know,” her father spat the words at the paper, adding his provisos as she watched. “Look, whatever the reason, he’s the only man she’s shut up and listened to for five seconds without causin’ a nuclear crisis if she’s not gettin’ her way. For now, it should be fine that she’s got the line of ownership, but by way of care of that kid. He knows who to listen to for business, and can at least not fuck shit up worse than it is and keep it from getting out of hand. Don’t matter if he’s the best at it in that situation, but if he manages to hold things together in that unlikely event, and maybe even undo any shit that’s gone foul, well, give the fag a sticker beside his name on the schedule, so he can be a happy little queer.”

Internally Ali counted the seconds, ticking them off, waiting for John to come with Nick, who she just wanted to lean up against... But that wasn’t part of the show necessary. Still she vowed she’d touch him somehow, she needed to, needed the grounding of that contact however she could get it. It took a little bit, or an eternity, that’s what it felt like, while the voices murmured back and forth, and she quintuple-triple checked the makeshift wills and powers of attorney for her father’s additions. It was one of a handful of times over the course of her life that something done by her father was actively helpful to her, though before she’d gone out to gather all the gangsters from the waiting room, she had mentioned that she knew she’d need a male spokesperson who was ‘in’ if Tony was slow to heal. 

Now, of course her father would be ‘slow to heal’ so to speak, as, in fact, he wouldn’t recover at all, but her father hadn’t know that, while she played and turned him just the way she wanted him. The other men would be much more difficult to position in a way to serve her needs without realizing she’d done so or that they were trapped, meaning she would need to keep them off balance, looking at her like she was a center of distracting attention with only a handful of things she wanted out of life. Ali needed them thinking about that sort of thing, not really considering any ramifications of what they were all agreeing to, and definitely not seeing her as a creature with any real goal, let alone being capable of beating their system at its own games and walking away scot-free. No, she was distracting and loud, but exactly what they expected her to be, which was mostly harmless, even if she was a bit more over the top than they’d been prepared for at the moment. And when these dangerous men with all their rules and willingness to harm others, suddenly found that the lynchpin of their profitable status quo had fallen, and been left to Ali, the basically forgettable except when right there in front of them girl, they would all quickly look away and search for whatever male was her ‘keeper’. No matter their ethnic background, this sort of underworld dismissed women as a rule, unless she was _really_ a piece of work intent on being visible and powerful, which Ali was pretty much the antithesis of. She was scathing to them, sure, nasty, definitely, but kept to shadows, kept to herself, and unless provoked, did her best to never, ever be noticed. So, these goons would immediately look to Nicki for the drive, the thinking, the planning, the doing...

Alright, so they’d all look to Nick for that, they’d be stupid if they didn’t figure he’d still be likely to follow Saul’s urgings, at first as a mentor or earlier loyalty or due to habit. That wouldn’t last long, it’d only continue until the other gangs managed to either end or limit that influence. While an independent and driven person holding the balance wasn’t ideal to each mob’s way of thinking, it was better than risking one group having a higher level of sway, so the other groups would try to do something and ‘mentor’ or ‘free’ Nicki of Saul’s direct control. At least, that’s the kind of politics and diplomacy Ali would bet on, it’s what worked throughout history whenever a balance was managed between groups, the neutral center couldn’t be too openly ruled by one group or another, or favour one too much over the other. Not that she wanted to do that thinking, this plotting, or whatever it was, as her mind frantically moved at speeds on topics that were supposed to be academic study, _not_ dangerous real life situations that could cost her everything at worst, or put her in situations where she had to do things and be a person she never, ever wanted to be, but must if she wanted to come out on top...and that meant this ugly up close and personal plotting, scheming, trying to prepare herself for the likely results of today, what they’d mean for tomorrow, and an overall gist for as many tomorrows as it took to find the opening to retreat safely. Really, she just wanted to leave it all to Nick if this had to be done at all, and she _knew_ it had to be, it’s just that Ali feared letting Nicki take the burden she was terrified of, would make her more like his brother and father. She’d become his responsibility, he’d become her devoted keeper, but she’d no longer be his partner and equal, whether either of them realized it consciously or not, that’s just what would come out of her leaving it all on him no matter how willing he might be to shoulder it. And if that happened, the longed for chance of having a home and partnership, at least away from designated work stuff, would vanish forever.

Nick shuffled in, a vending machine sandwich in one hand, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he chewed, while there were a few candybars tucked into the fold of that arm, his other hand hanging onto the iv-stand, while he took in the tableau with what Ali thought would be an impossible to pull off mix, expression. A little confused, a little concussed, a little innocent of any intent beyond what others told him to do, but not stupid either, and there was a big dose of unaffected by the import of the situation, or the fact that every person in the room beyond her was a very dangerous person to someone so far down the food chain as him... How he did that without looking stupid, or challenging, Ali would wonder at, but all she wanted was to hug him, snort at the poofed cheeks, run her fingers through his messy hair, and forget everything that had happened, was about to happen, and the way it would force them from the quieter lives they’d had, and require them to be put in much more dangerous positions than anyone would want...she longed to forget, but daren’t, and she didn’t have any real amount of energy free to wonder about Nick’s unassuming, dangerous, yet not dangerous, addled, yet not stupid, guise. (Down the line she may look back, if she remembered the moment clearly enough, she may think he deserved some actor nomination, or like an award, an Oscar, or Globe, whatever. But deep inside, where Ali was screaming silently that this life wasn’t what she wanted while all the other bits around it, were pulling out all the stops to plot a way to survival and freedom, she knew that this moment would be one she’d do her best to forget. If she thought about it at all, it’d be with bitterness over what it took to live, because these weren’t steps into the filth of the underbelly, this was _diving straight in_ to the sewer that these scumbags called home. Or maybe there wouldn’t be bitterness, who knew? Just...there wouldn’t be any attention to waste on something so fanciful as mentally awarding Nicki little statuettes and medals.)

Nobody spoke while Nicki held that act up, and Ali wondered if it was because nobody wanted to. If her father was the one to start, well, then he’d be admitting to a possible state of weakness, or a point where he may not be there, or that he may not be the top man in unofficial charge. If one of the other goons here spoke, they’d be overstepping boundaries by sharing what was going on with another mob’s member that was generally not of sufficient position to be considered worth speaking to. If Saul spoke, then he was an old dino, playing respectable voice, but intruding in the personal family matters of someone not in his domain’s control, but could be forgiven since he was an old fart, but also Nicki’s boss. And if Ali spoke, well, she was a female, and not really worth listening to, but at the same time in the position where it was her idea to do all this, her father’s state of health that would decide if her backup plan would be needed or not, and Nicki was her man...and one that was described as the only one in that’d ever managed to keep her pacified. (Disregarding the fact that Ali hid from all the mob stuff, which she would figure shouted loud and clear, that she wanted nothing to do with it, and was perfectly content to not be noticed, ever. Then again, she was Tony Mantezano’s daughter, and her day to day life may be far away from their knowledge, like most of the upper rank’s kids, she was known for her manner during forced group interactions, and by her father’s actions. Which would mean they had no idea what she was actually like, she was just a nasty mouth, bad temper, with a father that was known for raining down threats for fun, and often carrying them out, just because he liked to see people afraid...) As such a man, and ‘hers’, he could be dumb as a brick, and considered entirely under Saul’s thumb without any ability to think beyond that, and if her father was gone, these powers that be, would still prefer Nicki over a bratty daughter attempting to learn the ropes, do things her way, and all that...or so Ali supposed.

It was an impasse, one filled with the sounds of Nick steadily munching, patiently waiting to be given some sort of instruction like a good little soldier, no matter how he should appear utterly absurd and incapable of ever instilling fear in others when told to, or properly cognizant of his surroundings, yet still conveyed all that, cheeks poofing out fully again after a brief pause to slurp at a pop Johnny had held until Nicki snagged it from him in a lazy swipe. Machinery beeping, wooshing, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing, it could all have gone on for an eternity, it only felt that way. All of it lasted no more than a couple minutes that creeped on while she struggled with if she would speak up, yet hoping someone else would, and it was a white noise filled silence that went on until Nicki released a rather deep belch, simultaneously giving a startled hop while his eyes went odd from whatever damage the blows to his head had done, then a sheepish mumble of ‘scuze me’ followed by a disarming rub to his temple with an irritated wince.

Ali couldn’t help it, she laughed, nose wrinkled and moved closer, wiping away a smear of mayo and mustard from the corner of his mouth, the tension broken, almost forgotten in that flash, “Ugh, that’s awful, Nicki, you gotta slow down on the face stuffing, you’ll fill your stomach full’a air, and then where would you be? A jackass puffed up with gas like all the other scumbags who think they’re hot shit, and mostly useless talk...” She stole what little she could get out of the contact, leaning up to smooch his chin while he tried to not appear too emasculated by receiving such a public display of affection paired with her utter refusal to act like she was playing by the rules. But he’d still ducked his chin enough for her to get that kiss easily, and his fingers briefly tangled, hidden, in her sweater, before releasing as she let herself fall back from her tip-toes, letting her know he was with her and throwing in on whatever act she had going on. Clucking her tongue, “I like that you’re not a windbag or a dirtbag, bud, because it seems to me, that when other guys get that, they tend to lose their spine, and that makes’um useless. Look at these guys, all standin’ around, wearin’ suits, being tough, but not a one’s got the balls to say what’s up, leaving it to me to deal with this. And it’s not like it’s even my business - it’s theirs, literally! And they can’t even pipe up, so slow down and quit suckin’ in so much air when stuffin’ that cute pie hole of yours.”

No matter that he was following her lead, he still turned bright pink, and it showed, as he stood there, shuffling foot to foot at the full force of everyone’s scrutiny, “All them meds make me hungry, baby, can’t help it, y’know? ‘Sides, umn,” voice dropping a little, “maybe you should go outside, ‘cuz it’s not proper to talk ‘bout stuff in front of you...? Like, they ain’t gonna tell you to scram, it ain’t polite, but was waitin’ on you doin’ it? I dunno, uh...but, it’s better to be polite, yeah?”

Ali rolled her eyes, pinched his cheek, and turned towards her father, where Saul had taken up a position, subtly trying to make himself the ‘right hand’ or something, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, except this was my idea, and has to do with Daddy, and how you guys got a situation, which I came up with a solution for, since _somebody_ , really, a _few_ somebodies, haven’t come up with what to do in the event somethin’ goes wrong or gets a nasty cold or maybe some bad karma finally catches up to them, and isn’t up to their usual pissy self that plays the valiantly mad fool calling himself king while not bein’ anything but an over-glorified banker...or whatever it is he does, it sounds like the most boring job ever, even with all the tits and blow he gets to roll about in.”

“Ah, yeah,” sarcastically adding, her father finally did his job, “somethin’ like that, if you’re goin’ for the explanation a fourteen year old idiot tryin’ to sound smart may come up with, but that’s close enough, Alessandro. It ain’t here nor there, because it’s not gonna happen any time soon, since I’ll probably be out of here soon enough, but not soon enough to make me happy, it’ll still be long before any of this bullshit’s likely to be needed. So, listen up kid, you know how things go, and that there’s a way things gotta be to stay goin’ on right, and not straight to hell. I like it that way, we all like it that way, nobody fucks with rockin’ the boat, but sometimes shit happens, like, say I ain’t so fast to recover as I wanna be, and my business needs someone on the floor, keepin’ things going, or at least not goin’ to total shit, well...Ali can’t do it, she’s my daughter, that’s how it is.”

Nick cleared his throat, gaze skipping around the room, and it was asked cautiously, as though he hadn’t figured it out already (and if he hadn’t, Ali would eat her fuzzy hat, and she liked that hat) but was playing his role, letting himself be the slob being told what’s what in the world beyond his paygrade and status was all about... So it was soft, cautious, polite as hell, but not diffident, in fact, she wondered if they all realized just how unimpressed, unmoved by the implied power the others held, Nicki was. “Mr. Montezano, gentlemen, I get that Miss Montezano ain’t fit for that, but you got your own guys, an’ they seemed to run things...” a pause, dark eyes glittering, everyone aware he was choosing a less insulting word than what he really meant, “alright enough to get by without anybody havin’ to waste time kickin’ their asses and spellin’ it out for ‘um real small...so, not so bad, pretty good for hoodrats, I guess.”

Her father’s boys tensed, but were smart enough to not do anything, especially since a couple of the others there mostly had faces with lips twisting into tiny smirks of agreement, and her father’s own face pinched down. “They know their jobs, that ain’t the issue, it’s that -” her father froze, breaking off into a wheezing cough, then had to catch his breath, waving a hand at Saul.

“Nicki,” grave, gravelly, hands clasping and unclasping before him, “they’re Tony’s crew, and you shouldn’t have to ask what that means. They’re not experienced, they’re not one of us. They’re employees, managers, nothing more, and that’s not going to work if Tony needs more time to rest and heal up. Credentials, at least some standing that’s not just a couple hangerson, someone who has a chance to speak and be listened to, even a little, and aren’t looking to just screw the pooch and try to be more than they are, play parts beyond what’s needed. If Ali-cat were a boy, well, Tony could take his time, sit back, not have to push himself, maybe even take a vacation, but it is what it is, you know that.”

Asian, not Chinese, but Ali didn’t know, didn’t want to stare, didn’t want to risk seeming too interested in the individuals, snorted, waving a hand, “What these men are saying and you’re not hearing, in simpler words, is that should there be any necessity requiring a change in oversight - that you’re being rewarded for your...service to us all in playing your part in upholding the profitable state of affairs we’ve come to all enjoy, by way of rescuing Mr. Montezano. It’s a reward of responsibility, or possible responsibility, in Miss Montezano’s stead if it should come to it.”

“Lemme get this straight,” straightening, his gown all hanging this way and that, but her Nicki was still able to be commanding, while pretending to not be a couple steps ahead, “if Mr. Montezano gets better quick, no big deal, I’m not needed for anythin’ important...but if Mr. Montezano takes awhile, you want me to do...what? Play standin, puttin’ a boot to a few asses that won’t listen to his other guys? Pass along some messages from you guys to other guys if you want to play official or somethin’? Short-term manager and intermediary?” The fact that he grasped that aspect, and voiced it, caused lots of startled blinks, since they’d no doubt thought him not likely to be more than just sort of cunning muscle. “And what if somethin’ real bad happens? Mr. Montezano gets worse, permanent-like, and no longer the guy that managed to hit the jackpot position of everybody’s best friend, nobody’s toy, and useful to everybody, that all of you, or whoever, kinda agreed was okay to be there? If he ain’t there anymore to play his part of symbolic whatever that’s got some actual ability to fuck one group over the other, and since Ali can’t take that spot - you what? You want me in there? Look, I ain’t that guy, we all know that, nobody’d take me serious for long unless it’s just to be a temp deal. Now, I get it,” all reasonable sounding, “this should all straighten out soon, and I ain’t gotta do a damn thing except maybe check in, pass on some of whatever Tony’s instructed, or some problem that his dudes come up with and want to double-check what he wants. Fine, yeah, no problem there, and it ain’t likely to get bigger than that. But shit happens when you can’t afford it to, and if somehow I get to be the sonuvabitch that’s hauled up, what the hell good’s that gonna do? An’ that’s just part of the iceberg we got, ‘cuz nobody’s said nothin’ ‘bout why I’m the guy who’s allowed to do that shit in either Mr. or Miss, if it all goes bad, Montezano’s name? Huh? Who’ll buy that? Just because I was in the right place at the right time, an’ ain’t high up in any hierarchy, I ain’t had time to piss off anybody in other groups, so ain’t too offensive?” Dark head shaking, “Nah, that reward for doin’ my job ain’t gonna fly with too many, even for a short time, you know? Fuckin’ a, nobody’d even consider me a babysitter even if I had Mr. Montezano on the phone every day until he came in.”

Ali wanted to laugh as it all hit them what would be a necessary reason or surety of his attachment and status as tied to her, making her his ward after a sort. She _knew_ he’d been ahead, but he’d gotten ahead of her even. Her father had cursed the thought that Nick should play representative if it was needed, but had known it was Nick, or everything’d go to hell. The others had also agreed as soon as Nick was mentioned, but none of them had figured out what came at the end of their equation...

Tucking herself up against his side, arm around his waist, Ali’s chin jutted upwards, signalling her awareness of her own victory, the only victory any of them would bet she was angling for out of all this, “Aw, beautiful, that’s easy, we’re gonna get married. Daddy’s been hopin’ to sell me off to the highest bidder for years, but there wasn’t anybody with the balls to bid anyway, and it’s a good thing, since anyone that dumb to try an’ collect on what they figured was me, would just throw all this stuff you boys are on about about balance and profits that seem to get your noses all out of joint and your shorties all twisted, into the shitter. I guess you’re smart enough to keep this crap running even if Daddy were to keel over right now, and since he won’t, it’ll be a few years so you can be taught whatever you’re supposed to. My only rule that I care about, is that outside of scheduled time at work, you’re mine, and nobody’s to mess with that, ever, so they get what they want, and I get what I want.” A triumphant laugh and she squeezed his groin briefly, aware of the shocking crudity to everyone’s sensibilities, including Nicki’s who managed to only flinch while jaws dropped on even the most stoic there, “All mine, which we knew already, but we’ll make it all nice and official so you don’t gotta worry ‘bout nobody backtalkin’ you or not listening if you’ve got a thing to do, and you won’t even hafta keep playin’ whatever fetch games and errands Papa Saul’s insultin’ your intelligence by sendin’ you on. Nope, my beautiful Nicki, you just got a locked in promotion that everyone’s put the okay on, and I landed myself the hottest piece of ass Boston’s ever produced, even if I’ve gotta share you with these mooks sometimes.”

“If that’s what it takes, I guess,” he shrugged, nonchalant. “If it keeps everybody happy, good ‘nough for me, but I kinda wish you’d stayed outside, baby, that was the worst way to figure out gettin’ hitched was part of it all -”

“Who said it was you proposin’?” archly. “You’re just the one who figured out an’ led these goofs to the eventual solution to a problem you figured out before them, even if you hadn’t put the final results into words yet...” Smirking, “What am I supposed to say? I’m a girl, I know how to bag me a man, and how to make sure nobody’ll try to poach my prize, since gettin’ you all to agree to it wasn’t easy, but I’ve always known to seize my chance if when I see an opening if I come across somethin’ I want. Now I got it, and you boys got details to settle I suppose after you put your pretty little signature on those papers these gentlemen were so helpful in about addin’ theirs too, all so they can keep their happy little worlds just as it is in trade for helpin’ me finally get a real man for myself. Alright, so there’ll be some details to toss in for my benefit, but shouldn’t be too bad, just stuff that enforces what qualifies as my time and that outside of emergencies or prior arranged stuff, that’s _mine_ and they don’t get to intrude. But wasn’t it nice of them to be so helpful?” Winking at Saul, “Can’t say you ain’t gotten me a gift in years, Papa Saul. And for you other suits, I’d hug you for the assist, but then I’d need to soak in bleach to get rid of that really awful stuff you bathe in, so let’s just keep it to a friendly nod.”

“Christ, Alessandro, that’s enough, I ain’t wanna hear anymore, yeah, good for you, you managed to completely outfox people who didn’t give a damn about what you wanted to get outta this anyway, that’s my daughter, bright as a bulb,” disdainfully, dismissing any actual skill, and pointing at her like he was proud while looking at the others. “A burned out one, I mean. Can we just move on now, you got your toy, we got our backup, and lucky me, I got some idiot to train for later, if he don’t piss someone off and get his throat slit with that sassy mouth of his before I finally retire on the next side of never. Shit, I knew you havin’ a good idea for once without askin’ me for somethin’ shoulda meant there was a toy for you involved, but you’ll hafta forgive me, Ali, I’ve kinda had some jackoff beat me for a few hours, so I’m not exactly at the top of my a-game.”

Nicki was signing to spots she pointed to, and the others were filing out, the entertainment value having plateaued, and moved into family bickering that they wouldn’t deign to take part in, but Nick’s voice was absentminded, “Ali’s your daughter, it ain’t matter much if she’s not askin’ outright for her proper dues when she’s doin’ way more that’s in your interest than what she’d worked into it for herself.” Pausing, papers partially lifted to the last spot to sign, “If she’d said that’s what she wanted outta all this upfront, you’d tell her off, it don’t take any brains to know that. Everybody but her’s gettin’ everythin’ they need and want outta this since they’d all been preparin’ for hell breakin’ loose because nobody’d come up with any emergency outlines to follow, and she fixed all of that up for everybody that’d get fucked over if that happened. If it went to shit, it wouldn’t touch her, she’d just right up on and leave, but all of us’d be screwed so royal, who knows’d what happen? Your girl prepped the fixes, got the agreements, covered all our asses, when she didn’t hafta do anythin’ at all. But you woulda told’er no, and she woulda thrown away these things that we all kinda depend on to keep business right, and that woulda meant you’d thrown away everythin’ ‘cuz you ain’t like me personally or some shit like that.” Ali began running her hand up and down his back, the skin scarred a few places here and there, lots of bandages, but no blood, all revealed by the gape of the tied back gown, keeping quiet, letting him talk, because she needed the break, the contact, as she prepared for the final stages of today’s battle. “So fuckin’ what if she worked her own tiny con into this whole pile, it’s her right, an’ none of us got a right to say she ain’t earned it. Woulda been nice if _you_ ain’t hadta force her to make it a con, but Saul wouldn’t have agreed either unless someone weasled him into goin’ for it, that’s for damn sure. Other guys, not a problem, names her price, she gets paid that price for services rendered, easy. It’s just you two who’re the types who’d bitch if bein’ saved from a fire if the firemen didn’t hand you a bottle of fuckin’ champagne while carryin’ your asses out, and would rather stay until your demands was met, while your lungs burned all up. Gotta control everythin’, no matter what, an’ not pony up what you owe.” 

Her father was gritting his teeth, fighting to not fuck himself over outright, even though there were no witnesses now to hear the criticism, or to hear her father losing his cool and throwing away the chunk of insurance everyone had chosen. It would be too much to hope, or maybe not, that if the others had witnessed her father trying to throw out a chunk of insurance everyone suddenly wanted like the dying wanted salvation, they may have opted to throw her _father_ out instead if he showed himself suddenly incapable of playing the game right. If her father was thought to be a threat to their truce, not because of almost dying, but suddenly due to bad decisions, and if they all had a possible replacement lined up... The realization dawned quickly in her father’s bearing, and her Nicki nodded once, head ducking back to the last scrawl of his name. Oh beautiful, lovely Nicki didn’t need to gloat over what Ali wished she had enough left in her to gloat over herself, as her father hit upon one revelation after another what this whole little thing had set up...Tony Montezano, was no longer Boston’s underbelly’s oafish and wellprotected, loathed and only tolerated for his apparent irreplaceable status moneylending kingpin. If he made it out of the hospital, he’d have to watch himself for the first time in years, since he was now in a position where if he died, retired, fell ill, went missing, pissed off the wrong people, or anything at all that led to his presence not being there - nobody, _nobody at all_ would worry or care, since now there was a younger, more agreeable, quieter, player to take up his kingdom. And that if her father made it out and wasn’t careful, he’d be so screwed. 

No, Nicki didn’t gloat, he wasn’t the type, and Ali, outside of her awful persona of mob daughter, wasn’t real big on it either. But Nicki did straighten up, kissing her cheek, her temple once, with easy, open affection, a quiet tenderness, like he’d forgotten that it was anyone other than just them present, tilting her head back, and Ali almost forgot, her lids fluttering closed, happy, relieved, and revelling in the caress of thumb over her bottom lip. She almost entirely forgot, but didn’t, and made her eyes open when the hoped for kiss to the lips didn’t come, and saw beautiful dark eyes, soft and deep, but they were so worried over things they couldn’t discuss yet. And her father was growling quietly, hands making audible bunching, strangling sounds in his bedsheets, but if Nick wouldn’t pay him any mind, neither would Ali. 

Swallowing, she did bring up one thing, hands reaching up to touch his shoulders, since it was important, and if she wasn’t going to get that kiss that would wash away all the horror of what was going on, then she should just get the answer to something important. “Nicki, you said everybody’s gettin’ something outta this, what they want, and said what those assholes out there and what my father wants, an-and that I get my payment out of it, that I’d get you, and they’d let me, and let me have my time with you for all that...”

“Yeah,” his other hand came up, caressing her hair, soothing her, and why was it only ever him who touched her like this? “‘Course, an’ since you got it all on paper, with lots of ‘um witnessin’, they ain’t gonna be able to screw you over and wiggle out so easy.”

“I-I didn’t mean to corner you too,” and that got confused beetled brows as she whispered it. 

“Kinda cornered myself, I didn’t think ‘bout it until I was askin’ about how they thought things’d go, which I had a handle on, but not the why the hell they’d actually listen, an’,” full lips curving at the corners in a quiet smile, “I’m thinkin’ you ain’t hit on that full either, until we all hadta look at it, even if I liked the shit you pulled when I’d said it for shock alone, that was smart as hell, an’ funny. How many times you think all them gooks got caught lookin’ like fish? And a bunch’a them, all at once! Once in a lifetime event, that’s some odds I’m willin’ to toss a few grand on. Hey, you outsmarted your own self, huh? Not just plantin’ flag all over me, but got your own titles or whatever thrown in, and made all responsible queen of the place. Or somethin’.”

An answering smile found her, shaking her head at his silly analogy, “It’s what I’d like, sure, and I guess it’s the best way to get the chance, keep it, and have the time to figure out what’s really good and what we can have. It’s just...sort of sudden, permanent so long as we’re here, and..” Ali trailed off, searching his expression, hoping she hadn’t forced him to take actions he didn’t want any real part in, “But you, you didn’t say what you get or want out of this.”

Nick glanced away, and she thought at first it was rejection, but he was looking at her father, “I get what I want, and what I need, but I ain’t gonna say what any of that really is here.” Her father was purple faced, tongue bitten to keep from yelling, the machines were beeping faster than was healthy, but not enough to call for nurses, and why he kept quiet would remain a likely unsolved mystery as Nicki’s head swung back to look at her, his voice dropping low, “We got time, an’ I’m good with whatever we can figure out. You don’t worry ‘bout that, not ever Ali. I better get my ass out there though, if I kiss you like I wanna, your pops may bust an artery, an’ we’d get a way faster change of the guard than anybody’d want, not just in his case, but mine, yours, them fucks out there...” He still kissed her forehead once, and she sighed, relieved, leaning into him, hugging him, the heat of his breath on her crown, the sound of him inhaling the smell of her hair, “I’ll be nearby if you need me, baby.”

Hands clasped near her heart, Ali shuddered after making herself let him go, and watched the few limping steps that had him exit the room, door closing behind him, and now it was once more just her and the monster only she could slay that remained. For a moment, Ali considered not going through with it, the witnesses, the plans, the documents, all of them were now in open existence, and could be taken to legal offices within the hour. It was the absolute thwarted rage on her father’s face that reminded her that no, she’d come to the only real decision that offered a prayer for tomorrow. No straying from the course, and because everyone would think she no longer had something to worry about, to fear, nobody would look at her as having _fully intended_ on what would happen when she left this hospital room, that she wouldn’t leave it with a living person on that bed. No, she’d only leave the bedside if there was no more malice in that body of gristle and ego, no more breath, no more remote chance its mouth could spew something deadly, could risk what surety she had finally forced from this whole nightmare that her life was wherever it touched on her father’s ‘profession’. Monster, beast, just words to distance herself, and Ali wanted more distance to make it easier, but she wanted less, too, because her father was human, just a very awful specimen of one, and she shouldn’t ever risk forgetting that all people could have chunks of such vileness of nature, could devolve, or just be made that way from birth, but that, all in all, to dismiss his humanity by hiding behind distance and names, would put her in long term peril... After all, until she and Nicki agreed on how to get out of this, or if they even wanted to, and god, suddenly that was an actual outcome - this world was Nicki’s, and he was comfortable there, maybe he wouldn’t want to leave, maybe he wouldn’t know how to, and they’d stay, but they’d also have to have something that was just their own little world or she’d die, she’d have to, she couldn’t live like that forever... Soon she would be swimming with the sharks, with the humans that were just like her father, and they weren’t animals, monsters, they were human, and that she could grow to be like them, or Nicki could, or, or, or, if they forgot this was part and parcel of the worst humanity could slip into. To call them monsters, and herself human, she risked being blind to any slip into that abyss she may take...

They stared at one another, her father jonesing, enraged, thwarted, terrified, cornered, and in immense physical pain from what had been done to him and the fact that anything for the pain had long since worn off, and Ali just not sure of what she was showing him, hoping that if there was anything, that he was too far gone to read whatever it may be. 

“We had a deal,” struggling through gritted teeth, fighting for a calm they both knew he’d lost and probably wouldn’t actually regain. “And you got your little faggot to yourself, your payback, or whatever it is you wanted.”

Deep breath, Ali closed her eyes, calm regaining its foothold in her just as it couldn’t be found in her father. Opening them slowly, she went to refill the pitcher of water, making herself move deliberately, methodically, unwilling to lose any nerve once more, or give ground. “I got what I finally needed from you, yes, for once, Daddy. Nicki’s right, it does suck that I had to trick you into it, but I’m still going to hold up my end of the deal, I mean, I’m your daughter, but I’m also Mom’s, and she tended to be pretty good at sticking to her promises, pretty much always, actually, so long as the other person kept theirs.” 

“Bitch, bitch, bitch, give it to me, if I gotta sit for all this bitchin’ you’re doin’, gimme somethin’ that’ll make me remember to not yell for my boys, and tell’um to shred up your stupid notepad paper,” snarling, hands out, fingers grasping at empty air. 

Vodka, cocaine, just a little happy taste, Ali found her entire self going soothing, sweet, and it was almost as though she cared still, “Here you go, Daddy, this’ll help.” 

Nothing was said as she sat there, helping him pace himself, making him drink water too. Without a word she switched his electrodes and monitor to herself, so his increasing heart and respiration rates wouldn’t sound alarms, so his blood pressure rising, his body temp fluctuating, and all that, wouldn’t tell anyone capable of intervention that things weren’t as they should be. It was a good hour, she’d gone slow, not allowing her father to just gorge and binge no matter how much he wanted to, and how much easier it would be to let him destroy himself by his own active and shaking hands. She’d had some water herself, and occasionally murmurred soothing sounds, because she actually did have feelings still, they wouldn’t ever go away easily, but just because she cared enough to not give in to every urge to exact every last ounce of justice she could, didn’t mean she would change her mind, or that she wouldn’t gain what she intended to rip from him. He did deserve pain, punishment, and finally death, for everything he’d done, not just to her or Mom, but to all sorts of people and activities that Ali only knew vaguely of, not that it mattered... Ali _would_ play judge, torturer, and executioner, but she wouldn’t do it at every urge that demanded she toy and make him hurt, since giving into that urge was too easy and too much like him, she’d only do it when not just seeking to lash out.

During a pause, her father looked slimey, his sweat sheen gone sort of sticky, his hospital gown clinging and darkened in places, his colour alternately high then low, off, green, white, then red, in flushes and surges before settling. His mind was still his own, but he was seriously fucked up, the kind of fucked up that’s unable to block out what it’s told, shown, what it hears, what it experiences, and definitely no good at censoring itself. Slowly forming the words, a wheezed edge to them, “What the fuck do you see in that pretty fuckboy?” She was going to answer the question she’d answered earlier in various forms, but her father had more to add, “He’s a fraud, a real fraud, Ali. He didn’t carry the hit. He’s a deadman when they find out. He ain’t got the balls for this, he won’t be able to protect you, you think he can, but he’s weaker than that game face he wears. They’ll eat you all alive and you’ll wish you’d just been dead and raped in a bodybag.”

Sitting back, Ali began to patiently set up a speedball, a weak one, but not too weak either, even if her father hadn’t requested one, she’d be giving it to him. He was cogent, probably aware he couldn’t take the stimulant-opiate mix, but not really able to consider doing anything about it when she would be giving it to him, while still being mentally there enough to be afraid... She remembered seeing Mom’s eyes go numb yet frightened so many times when her father had given her too much, or given her another shot, pushing the limits, toying with her. 

Ali filtered the quickly brought to a bubble and cooked concoction through the bit of cotton and into the needle, her concentration on that, “It won’t matter, Daddy. The being a fraud part, the fact he didn’t carry out that order. Because soon enough, if he’s not been forced to it already, he’ll have what you all deem to be a proper death on his hands. Besides, Papa Saul doesn’t realize quite yet what he did, so much has happened so many different nuances to this whole dance sequence, that it’s only natural the tiniest details haven’t been noticed.” Inspecting the needle, tapping out any air to the top, waiting, unconcerned, until a tiny squish of liquid came out and she set the needle down for the time being, ready for when she wanted it. “He released Nicki from his direct control. Nicki can’t do your job, fill your shoes, if he’s beholden to those Sal Vitaglia, and the other mafiosos, they’ll force that issue one way or another. Either on their own, or someone helpful would have pointed it out. But you were all very accommodating, and Papa Saul was especially so for a man who thinks he’s sly enough to have just managed to put one of his own into a position he can use to hold his almost useless carcass up a bit longer. And once my Nicki’s in place, he’s protected pretty much, even from being punished for being released, no matter any prior failures.” 

Air whistled and gushed in and out of her father’s nose, taking far more time to understand what she’d said than usual. Failing steadily and surely, and at a rate that he didn’t notice just how much danger he was in, and if, or when, he finally realized it, it would be too late. Which was part of why Ali pressed a gentle hand under his chin, holding the cup of water up for a sip, while she let him have the time to make sense of what she’d said... To drag it out too long would be bad, and risk detection, to let it go too fast, would chance him realizing how far, how fast, how dangerous it was, but there were so many other aspects to balance beyond making sure there’d be no life-saving for him. There was his greed to drive him onwards, her need for control of this and to repay him for at least some of her life, but there was the overall requirement for him to reap exactly what he’d sown for once and be made aware of it. So she kindly blotted away the dribble of drool and water from the corner of his mouth after he’d had his little drink, waiting for a few more moments as he gathered his scattered mind. 

“H-how long you two, you been plannin’ this,” sudden flash of cunning, and that’s part of the aspect that made her father so dangerous to others, probably. 

“Today, when I got the call you were here, that Nicki was here, I realized that something had to be done to be certain of things,” she admitted freely, but witnesses that didn’t exist wouldn’t know she’d decided that to be certain would require outright patricide. “It took me a little bit to bang out the details, what I’d need to have to be as certain as anyone can manage to make themselves in this world you forced me to be born into that they’re safe and will survive. I was countin’ on that shit you do where you don’t really have any foresight or forethought, to let me get my documents, but I also had to make it look like a sudden idea, so, no pretyped up ones that would make courts happiest. General ideas, that’s all I had to go off of, but I only had like...what?” She checked her watch, counted back, then hummed in surprise, “Three hours to figure it all out if you count the going through what had to be done, the motions, getting dressed up all cute, all that prep, but I didn’t know what to say and only got a barebones script on the busride to the hospital... If you don’t count the ride, then about an hour and a half to come up with a plan that changes everyone else’s lives and buys me a bit of breathing room.”

Her father strained, struggled to sit up, blinking at her, and there was a moment of full clarity, “You shoulda been a boy, Alessandro. You shoulda been a boy, then you woulda been useful to me with that ability.”

Ducking her head, smiling and shaking her head, how long had she wished for some kind of praise from him that was genuine? It was left-handed and petty, but it was still genuine for once, so there was that, it was just way, way too little, decades too late. “Nicki’s faster, and he’s a boy, if you’d paid attention, you woulda realized you just got two for the price of one, and shouldn’t be so disappointed, but you still got the short end of the stick by having a girl anyway. You built up this crap, and I don’t even wanna know what it all is, Daddy, and you couldn’t even make somethin’ come outta your own balls to leave it to. It’s such a let down.” 

Slumping, that moment of full faculty control having been used up, her father, swallowed thick and dry, but muttered as she held the cup up for him again, “You ain’t say why your faggotty boytoy got you crazy enough to risk everything. There’s better lookin’, richer, smarter, whatever...”

Brow beetling, Ali wondered why that was so important. It’s not like her father understood any of the other things she’d listed as to why Nick was what she wanted or how he was more than her life would have ever allowed to have coming from the background she did, no matter how much distance and time she put between herself and her father’s world. “I’m Tony Montezano’s daughter, Daddy. I can change my name, where I live, how I look, but I’ll never be free of that stain. Guys who could have been really good to me if it was just me, can’t, not with what bein’ _your_ kid means. Guys who go for me right away, name, no name, don’t care, and if they find out, are impressed, are pretty much just copies of you and your brand of asshole. I wouldn’t want that, saw firsthand how much I wouldn’t want anything like you at all. So, yeah, there’s lots of other guys than Nick in the world. But none worth my time.” Shrugging, “He’s good to me, Daddy. Not because of bein’ your kid. Not pity, not anythin’ other than just bein’ good. I never knew that was actually possible, not really. Just fairytales and daytime tv.” Head cocked, “Why are you even pretendin’ to care? You think I’ll...I’ll what? I don’t know, what do you think I’ll do if you pretend to care, what’s in it for you, Daddy? There’s always gotta be a big payday, because that’s how you are, just like a leopard can’t change its spots.”

“You’re _my_ daughter,” enunciating, a finger tapping on the blanket beside his hip, like that statement meant anything...at least anything real, anything beyond a possessive claim that he owned her and nobody else had a say.

“And I can’t remember a time when I begged and pleaded that I wasn’t, or that I cursed the fact I came from you,” Ali replied, agreeing, the anger and hurt she once felt at that having left behind simple fatigue. More drugs, smaller dose, she mustn’t let him process too much out. “Every time I’m reminded of it, I wish it wasn’t true, but it never changes. So what?”

“Know your pl-pl-role,” the words stumbled over, like they meant something. “Mine, you owe resp-resp...” A futile growl, more of a gurgle, “L-lo, children _owe_ it.”

Feeling her expression twist with revulsion as she understood what he’d meant, sickened by just how pathetic and deluded the dying husk she was unfortunate enough to share genetics with, “Know my place, owe you respect, owe you my life, owe you my _love_? You wanted thanks too, earlier, now you want all that? You think you _deserve_ it?” Sharp, jagged edges of some emotion that was too mixed up to say was any one thing, rose up, and her voice became strained, “I tried, Daddy. I tried to get you to love me when I was little, I tried to make you proud, I let you barter and pass me around because I knew if I didn’t, that you’d make sure my life was a worse nightmare than it was already, so I’m pretty certain you got as much payment from others to makeup for whatever I ‘owe’ you. And when I gave up, because it didn’t do anything away, I tried to make my own life, and you had to come and poke or prod wherever you could to make it so I couldn’t have one. At least you didn’t destroy me outright the way you did Mom, I guess I owe you for that! It’s a step up, I should respect that progress? What fantasy land do you live in, after all you’ve done, is gonna get you that? What reality do you come that this equates to the kid loving, respecting, and being thankful to the twisted fuck who forced their mother to birth them against every single one of her desires?” 

Her father flinched a few times, the words driven home like spear points, and the part that needed to see him in agony in response to her attacks, flared, approving, but she knew she wanted more, more she’d never really get, and had only these minutes to reclaim some control of the life her father had consistently invaded, violated, and forced to change course from any happiness for herself. Nabbing his chin, she made him look up, made him see the speedball, let it register, let him remember she’d made it, and then twist his head enough to watch her press the needle into the drug reservoir of his IV, but she made sure he knew her thumb hadn’t pushed the plunger down yet. Carefully leaning forward, invading his space, one arm stretched out to maintain the needle’s position, waiting to be deployed, Ali let her voice, her bearing, her expression, change, trying to copy Nicki that first night when he’d walked her home. It took a moment to be noticed properly, just as everything was taking time to get through, her father’s condition now moving to a true critical point of no return, but she counted her breaths, kept her expression as curious and soft as Nicki’s had been while it had been all twisted up with surprise, longing, all of those things she’d seen that night, and her father’s reaction was everything she could have hoped for. He was confused, he was horrified, he was hungry, he longed too, and that was all sorts of fucked, but that’s what he was, and she generally did her best to forget that she could be seriously messed up herself. 

Aiming for hesitant awe, an almost silent sweetness, Ali’s words were hushed, her hand touching her father’s bald pate, copying Nicki’s featherlight, tender touch to her hair, and it was a sad reflection, but one that got discomfort and an attempt to strain away from her, “You wanna know why Nicki’s what I need and what I’m willin’ to gamble on? Because he makes love to me good, he fucks me into next week, and every time he touches me like that, it’s not all about him an’ him takin’ what he thinks he’s owed. An’ when he comes in me, it’s ‘cuz I want him there.” Her father tried to turn his head aside, but Ali followed, her face dipping and going to the side, her fingers tracing his skull, his ear, knowing that this was the level of forced submission her father tended to use on others, and for him, this was the closest he’d ever get to feeling the same violation and fear he had always taken delight inflicting, “I can still feel a little bit in me from this mornin’ caught in my panties, Daddy. But y’know, it ain’t the sex that’s so important, since it took me years to not just be told, but learn, experience, and y’know, actually sort of believe, that sex is supposed to be a really wonderful thing, so as good as he gives it to me, it’s not what counts.” 

Hiccuping trying to burrow back into the hospital bed, helpless, unable to get his vocal cords to respond, her father shook with the effort to move with any purpose, but he couldn’t as she slid fingertips along his jaw, over his lip, all while she did her damndest to hold tight to that serene expression Nicki gifted her with so often, but had been surreal that first night. 

“He’s there, Daddy. He’s there, in that little shithole I struggle to keep warm in winter, and he fills it up with his presence. He leaves it all better than he found it. Like last week, I found him on the kitchen floor, my dishwasher taken completely apart and spread around him, to clean all the parts an’ make that piece of shit that’s older’n I am run like it was new... I asked’im what he was doin’ and why, he just shrugged an’ said it didn’t seem to run like he thought it could, and that was it. He’s just there, addin’ himself to what’s all empty and cold, and askin’ for nothin’ in return, Daddy. He just does it, he just does it ‘cuz he can, and because he cares...” Mouth curving on the smile as she realized what it was, “No, he does it all because he loves. He loves, and he gives, and he don’t think nothin’ of it, if it’s someone who’s part of him. He brought you here, Daddy, he saved your sorry ass, because he loves me, an’ wouldn’t wanna hurt me, no matter how much better off I’d be if you were dead.”

Gag choking, the sentence made actual sense, he must have really managed to dig deep to find the strength for that, “Shot mic, made deal, saved...”

“Saved himself, saved his friend, when he woulda wanted to shoot you,” she took a stab in the dark. “I can see that, I can see him doing whatever he’s gotta for whoever’s important to him. Everythin’ you are, he’s the opposite, Daddy. He’s a thug, an excon, a hustler, a violent thug, a brute with bloody hands, Daddy, and a willingness to lie, cheat, steal, and beat to get his payday, and I hate that about him. I hate it so much, because I like it, and because I know he only got that way because he loved his family, and did what his deadbeat dad couldn’t be bothered to do to keep them fed, clothed, housed, warm, safe.” Inspecting his face, counting cuts and pores and bruises, like his face was something she wanted to burn into her memory forever, just like Nick looked at her then, now, this morning, so often, and she knew it’d be something that would probably fade away the longer they were together, but would hopefully still come back every now and again, even fifty years from now if they made it that long. “He’s the monster any of you would be proud of bein’, but he’s not in it for the power trip. He don’t get his rocks off when watchin’ cockstains like you piss themselves after he’s beat them down to dirt. He don’t care, but he also ain’t high off it. Oh my Nicki, he’s all that, but more, so much more, Daddy. Because when he’s not takin’ care of a business he’s good at but wasn’t ever anythin’ else but seeing to his own and himself, he’s everything that’s opposite of you. Oh my beautiful Nicki, Daddy, he’s so smart, not book smart, not school smart, he had to give that all up, but he reads, he studies, he listens, he _thinks_...he’s not just some quick jackoff doing useless shit to have fun. He don’t just dive head first into a situation without lookin’ at it first and usin’ his brain. He uses that brain, he uses all of that, while you just use whatever impulse tells you what you want for right now. So, so much more, Daddy, I can’t even begin to break it down.” 

Crooning, she finally pushed the plunger, and used both hands on her father’s face, his neck, smiling with every effort made to be loving as though she were her sweet Nicki, and her father was herself, “You’ll never be his equal, you’ll never find his equal. And I ain’t even sure how I managed to come across him, either, because someone like him, they don’t exist in the world you raised me in. They can’t, not for long. But he has, somehow, oh Daddy, Daddy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t become disgusting like all of you. Because, you see,” closer, nose to nose, the speedball was hitting, “when he touches me, Daddy, he makes me _clean_. All that filth you rubbed on me, all that filth you made others rub on me, and I don’t forget the filth you’ve put in me, he wipes it away, doesn’t even notice it, to him, I’m clean, I’m beautiful, and I’m a home he thought he’d never be able to have. We’ll dig in your dirty world, Daddy, and we’ll walk away, and let you all rot, when we can escape it.” Her father began to seize, his eyes rolling back, and Ali sat back, repulsed at what she’d done, how she’d acted, but also vindicated, able to let go, as she watched him and said with the coldness of everything that was inside her when it came to her father, “Enjoy Candyland, Daddy, I’m through with you, now that you’ve received a measure of what you’ve given others aplenty.”

Watching with utter detachment as her father seized and thrashed, it was messy, she realized that her fairly well thought out for such a slapshod plan had a problem. Quick hands hid evidence away in her pockets, nobody’d look at her for this, but that wasn’t the issue. No, the issue was that she was wearing his monitors and there was no way to transfer them back if he was dead-dead without it being obvious that she was at fault, which was counter to the entire _point_ of what she’d taken such pains to carry out. Frantic, quick, hands shaking as she realized she didn’t have much time, but that if she let the others know too soon, there was a chance - a slim one, but still one - that some valiant medical miracle may overcome all statistical probability, and let her father live through this. But if she didn’t do it now, now, now, then there’d be so many questions and she had no alibi, no excuse, and she was frightened of either outcome, her hands rapidly moving, shaky, jerky, and she had finished while the alarms that had gone blaring from the monitors and the red light flashing outside the door, and probably a bunch of other ones at nurses’ stations, had gone off and summoned their cavalry. She’d barely finished, broken free, stumbled and staggered to the wall, when people were barging in, and she watched dumbly as the staff moved around like angry hornets from a kicked nest, doing their job trying to salvage a life best left thrown away. 

It wasn’t until she sank to the floor, that she realized Nicki was there, Nicki was holding her, while she watched the horror show going on, helpless to do anything, and she mutely realized she was crying. His voice was for her ears alone, but her ears were buzzing, her body was so cold, she felt so weak, so numb, so afraid, while every other sound was like it was heard through water, but so, so loud... Lanky arms, lanky frame, she was tucked into him, but any attempt made at shielding her from the view, and she twisted or pushed, needing to watch, until he must have given up, and then she was just cradled, legs gone out from under her, him kneeling beside her, using his own body to shield her from prying eyes, to keep her from seeing those morbidly curious. Nobody shooed them out when the staff finally gave up, someone moved towards them, but she didn’t know what it was he said or did, but Nicki made them go away instead and leave them be. Limp, a broken doll up against him, Ali became aware of what he was saying, whispering for her ears alone, he was there, she wasn’t alone, he wouldn’t let go, he was sorry, he was sorry, he was so, so sorry, it would be alright, a litany of words people used to comfort others, but really weren’t ever going to be very effective. Except right then it was, it was, because he at least meant them, and that was real, that was solid, and something Ali had almost never encountered in her life. So it worked, a little, but it worked.

Stiffly, it was hard to make her body cooperate, she turned in his arms as much as she could, looked up at him, and she never, ever meant to tell him, but she couldn’t help it. “I-I killed him, Nicki.”

They were alone, the gourney gone and replaced at some point she didn’t recall, and the door was closed, the lights set to low, and they were like two ghosts not meant to be in an unused room awaiting a new patient. Nick cupped her head, both hands, god, his hands, his hands, how could she forget how big they were, heels of palm down near her chin, his fingertips were able to almost meet one another at the highest point of her crown, it was scary to feel like her head was nothing but a melon, but he was cradling and supporting, that was all, nothing more. Fingers rolled side to side, stroking but not going far, and she couldn’t do anything to hide from that scrutiny.

“No, baby, no, you ain’t the one who killed’im,” reassuring, patient, trying so hard to make her feel better, so full of belief, but he didn’t _know_.

Why did her eyes burn, why were there tears, why did they appear, and that burning stab of shame filled her as her lids scrunched closed, unable to take seeing what he thought of her on his face. Because it’d change, how Nicki looked at her would have to change, she’d make sure of it, she couldn’t stop herself from showing him what weapons she’d used to torture, maim, then kill another person, no matter how much sense it made, how deserved it was, and how she knew there was no other way to have provided them with a chance of their own survival. Fumbling fingers she tugged out the bag of coke, she may have managed to snag a tiny flutter of a heroin filled stamp bag, but her fingers were clumsy and could barely feel what she was touching. One of the clean needles, the used one, that’d gone into her jacket pocket, intending on disposing of it in one of the sharps-biohazard-boxes that were plentiful in the hospital, the spoon - only one hand held her head up, the other was grabbing for her tools. 

“Baby, shh, you gotta stop that,” no urgency, same gentleness, same, oh god it was still just the same as earlier, no change at all, and the other hand was picking up her things and hiding them away once more. But Ali was still too afraid to look, to open her eyes, because other than the overwhelming chasm of mostly terrified numbness she found herself in, fear that he’d not look at her the same, was the more powerful of everything else that had become muted. Fingers touched her cheek, the murder weapons safely hidden, and she hiccuped, because he didn’t know how twistedly she had copied him to hurt her father, perverted this beautiful touch he gave her, just to make another human being suffer. She’d taken what Nicki had shared to show love, and used it for destruction. Oh god, no, she could never, ever say that, not ever. Not when he was whispering, urging her, lips near hers, fingers caressing her lids, her brow, “Baby, look at me, please, c’mon sweetheart.”

Heaving another hiccup, choking on the sob, Ali forced her lids open a crack, trying to brace herself for no longer being quite so clean and loved in Nick’s gaze, “I killed him, Nicki. I hadta do it.”

The only change was an impossible, improbable, increase of softness in his expression. “I wish I’d pulled that trigger when I coulda, baby. Except if I did, there’d be no way out, but really, it ain’t you who done it, no matter what you helped him along with.” How could Nick say that? But he nodded lightly, face dipping, eyes closing, his forehead touching hers, “He did all’a this to himself, Ali. It don’t matter what got him at the last second, it ain’t important who was there, who had intent, because he was a walkin’ corpse that didn’t know it yet.”

“B-but I killed him, Nicki, I hadta, I hadta make sure, I hadta make sure he didn’t have time to interfere, to change, to backstab, to get to you, to me, to-” words spilling free, rocking back and forth, until burrowing into his chest. 

“He’s gone, nothin’ else, it ain’t important, Ali,” soothing, so soothing, so warm, so gentle, and his hands were rubbing up and down her back the way Mom’s used to when she was really sick when she was little, and she found him pulling and drawing her in even closer, and he didn’t feel like Mom or smell like Mom or anything, but that touch was almost identical in delivery, that circuit from the back of her head, down her neck, her shoulders, to the small of her back, and slowly circling back up again, over and over and over, while he kept his cheek tucked against her face. “He’s gone, he can’t hurt nobody no more.”

Coughing laughter, clinging to him, fingers clawing at his shoulder blades, getting fabric mostly, but there’d be marks left behind, “But it hurts _because_ he’s gone, Nicki. I want my Daddy...I-I want...” Except she’d never had a ‘daddy’, she’d never had a ‘father’, and what was gone, was the hope for what would never exist. Heaving a deeper sob, “I’m all alone, Nicki, he took it all, he crushed it all, took Mom, and made sure I’d never have a daddy, never have, never have nothin’ Nicki, an’ now even the...”

He didn’t say anything, just held her, stroked her, rocked her, and lay a soft kiss to her periodically while all of reality hit her at once or all over again. And while there may be something to fight for and hope for for her future, the nightmare of today and everything before, may have ended, but there would be new coming for them soon. Tomorrow, maybe tonight, or maybe if they were lucky enough to get a chance to sleep, to breathe, to talk, the day after that. But it was coming, she’d hoped this was the end of some war, and maybe it was, at least one front of it. Or battle, and she wanted to scream, but there wasn’t any air in her lungs to do so...

**Author's Note:**

> Tony, early on, tells Nick that he likes certain things, likes his man cave, that the _world_ is his man cave, that he likes bitches, blowjobs, and blow, and because of his position, he can have all of it that he wants without anyone being able to do shit about it. Granted, Nick wasn't impressed, in fact, he was clearly disgusted and looked at Tony like the guy was a dirtbag so low that a street hustler guttersnipe wouldn't want to have anything to do with him. So, when Nick falls for Ali, he finds he can't hurt her by letting her know just how _truly_ vile the guy is - Ali has to figure it out for herself, or at least figure out what she already knew and said she knew. What Tony and Nick don't know, is that Tony prophesies his own death... Shitheads like that deserve to get all they want out of life.


End file.
